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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



MARIANA 



MARIANA 



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IN THREE ACTS AND AN EPILOGUE 



BY 



JOSE ECHEGARAY ■ 



VI 



TRANSLATED BY JAMES GRAHAM 




BOSTON 'I ' 
ROBERTS BROTHERS 

i895 



K 



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Copyright, 1895, 
By Roberts Brothers. 



All rights reserved. 



I2-2>l c / c /S 



John Wilson and Son, Cambridge, U.S.A. 



PERSONS OF THE DRAMA. 



Mariana, aged 24 years. 
Clara, wife of Don Castulo, 30 years old. 
Trinidad, widow, sister of Don Pablo, 35 years old. 
Daniel Montoya, in love with Mariana, 30 years 

old. 
Don Pablo, general, 48 years old. 
Don Joaquin, a former protector of Mariana, from 

6$ to jo years old {noble character). 
Don Castulo, a rather grotesque archceologist and 

antiquary, 56 years old. 
Luciano, in love with Clara, 22 years old. 
Servants, etc. 



[Rights of adaptation and stage representation reserved. ~\ 



ACT I. 

The scene represents a drawing-room adorned with 
elegance, Doors at the sides and in the back 
centre. Night. All splendidly lit up. A little 
"At Home " is taking place. Clara is discovered 
seated: Trinidad enters to her. . 

Trin. I am coming to keep you company, Clarita. 

Clara. Are you tired of hearing music ? 

Trin. {sitting down beside Clara). I only like 
music when I am in the Teatro Real. There, it costs 
me very dear, so it should be very good. The only 
things worth considering are those that cost money. 

Clara. True enough: that's why men are most 
fond of the women for whom they make most sacri- 
fices. 

Trin. That 's why Daniel is so fond of the enchant- 
ing Mariana. 

Clara. And that 's why your brother, Don Pablo, 
our heroic general, is so fond of the divine Mariana. 

Trin. How am I to know ? 

Clara. Don't deny it. 

Trin. No, darling, I '11 not deny it. Although I 
think my heroic brother has plunged into a war in 
which there will be more defeats than victories. 

Clara. One victory, that of the wedding, will be 
enough for him ; and afterwards — taking into con- 



S Mariana. 

sideration Mariana's character — there are no disasters 
to be feared. Moreover, Don Pablo, like a true 
soldier, would take bloody vengeance for any such. 

Trix. The wedding is very doubtful. 

Clara. Why? Common sense counsels it. Mariana 
is a widow who is hardly a widow, and is almost a 
child: beautiful as a mid-day sun: r h an 

incalculable richness— for half America is hers: a 
reputation without blemish ; a virtue flawless as 
marble. 

Trix. Perhaps the reason of her being so virtuous 
is that she bears such a resemblance to marble. The 
Venus of Milo would resist all the amorous assaults of 
all the wearers of cress-coats or smoking jackets with- 
out an evil thought passing through her most beautiful 
head, without a single tremor agitating her heart of 
stone. 

Clara. But. after all. she is virtuous. And as for 
your brother . . . ah ! your brother is a soldier of 
lofty exploits and pure fame : loyal, energetic, attrac- 
tive : with his forty-eight years he is worth many 
men of thirty : and in the political world he will 
mount very high. 

Trix. We are agreed that Pablo is heroic and 
sympathetic, and that Mariana is rich, very beautiful. 
and virtuous ? 

Clara. Quite so. 

Trix. Well, mark me : our dear Mariana must be 
very virtuous, no doubt, but she flirts horribly with 
Daniel. 

Clara laughing)* You call that flirtation? Say 
that she roasts him at a slow fire, that she torments 
him without pity, that she plays with him as a cat 
with a mouse : strokes him. sticks her claws in him; 
lets him go. springs on to him : makes fond grimaces 



Mariana. 9 

at him, and covers him with blood. This is not 
coquetry ; it is more like hatred, cruelty. Poor 
Daniel ! if he does not fly, he will either be driven 
mad, or will blow his brains out. 

Trin. Climaxes like those are only found in melo- 
drama. He will either be undeceived and marry 
some one else ... or he will get wedded to Mariana. 

Clara. But I tell you she hates him. Am I not 
likely to know her? When she looks at him she 
fixes her eyes as when she used to quarrel with a girl 
at college, and fly at her, and bite and scratch her. 
Believe me, if the usages of society allowed it, she 
would bite and scratch Daniel. 

Trin. Ah ! Clarita, how dangerous that is ! 

Clara. For Daniel. 

Trin. No, dear, for Mariana. Listen — I will tell 
you in confidence. The first thing that I felt with 
regard to my poor, dear Paco — may he rest in peace ! 
— was an invincible desire to bite his hands — because 
they were always beautifully white and well cared 
for . . . you understand ? {Wipes her eyes.) 

Clara {laughing). What you tell me is remarkable. 
Before I was married I never had any desire to bite 
my dear Castulo. Since our marriage — I've many 
times longed to do so. 

Trin. But if Mariana hates Daniel, as you say, 
why does she receive him in her house ? why does 
she call him to her and attract his attention ? 

Clara. I don't know. It must be because she 
delights in tormenting him. Mariana is very good, 
but she is . . .how shall I say it ? . . . somewhat 
cruel. 

Trin. Certainly. Mariana is very good; but at 
heart . . . at heart . . . (?nysteriously) God knows 
what Mariana is. 



io Mariana. 

Clara. Do you know what she is ? — Selfish. 

Trin. I know her to be very cold-natured. 

Clara. No; she is dried up at the heart. 

Trin. She likes nobody. 

Clara. Because she has no feeling. There it is — 
she has no feeling. 

Trin. And she does not believe in anybody or in 
anything. 

Clara. But, in spite of all, she is very good. 

Enter Don Joaquin. 

Trin. She is indeed; and I am very fond of her. 

Clara. And she is so lovely ! 

Trin. Most lovely ! 

Clara. Don Joaquin. . . . 

Joaq. You are now speaking kindly of some friend. 

Trin. That 's true. 

Joaq. Was I not sure of it ? It may be known 
from your faces. . . . You wore the faces of the 
"grand panegyrists," as Don Castulo would say. 

Clara. That is so. We were speaking . . . 

Joaq. Of the mistress of the house ? 

Trin. Quite so — of Mariana. 

Joaq. And you did not require much inspiration 
to . . . 

Clara. To what ? 

Joaq. To end by deifying her? . . . {apart) by 
drawing and quartering her. 

Clara. Not very much. 

Joaq. Then I shall assist you. Let us continue our 
raising of Mariana to the rank of the divinities. 

Trin. You love her greatly. 

Clara. You were always very fond of her. 

Trin. You have been almost like a father to her. 

Joaq. Not quite so. But, indeed, I take a true 



Mariana. i i 

interest in her. And at my age a man may interest 
himself, as I do, in a young woman like Mariana 
without fear of your deifying us. So say I — if you 
will take my opinion . . . though I am not very much 
to be relied upon. 

Clara (laughing). No, senor, you 're not indeed. 

Trin. {laughing). No, senor; you are still dan- 
gerous. 

Clara. Dangerous when you have the opportunity. 

Joaq. What's that you are telling me ? You really 
flatter me. I must beg Don Pablo's permission to 
pay my court to you, Trinidad. I shall ask a license 
from Don Castulo, our prince of archaeologists, to 
deliver to you, Clarita, a course of practical lessons in 
archaeology. 

Clara. Put away your flowers of rhetoric, and let 
us return to Mariana. 

Joaq. Then we have not made an end of her? 

Clara. No, senor; a great deal still remained to 
be said about the enchanting young widow ! 

Trin. A widow ! But she can scarcely be called 
one. She goes to be married, or her father proceeds 
to have her married, by power of attorney, to an 
immensely rich American: he ships her off by the 
first steamer; the divine betrothed disembarks — to 
meet the dead body of her bridegroom. Tell me 
conscientiously: is that being a widow? {To Don 
Joaquin.) 

Joaq. Well, let us call her "a widow by power of 
attorney." You are not one of that fashion, Trinidad? 

Trin. No, senor. Poor Paco ! 

Joaq. And you — you are not a widow in that way, 
Clarita? 

Clara. Not in any way. Have you forgotten 
Castulo ? 



12 Mariana. 

Joaq. True! true I What a head I have! . . . 
Castulo ! . . . the high priest of archaeology ! . . . 
Humph, here he comes at the conjuration. 

Clara. And he comes with Luciano : poor lad ! 

Joaq. What supplicating looks that poor lad directs 
toward you, Clarita —to save hi 

CLARA. Leave them alone; Castulo is initiating 
him into the mysteries of archaeology. 

Joaq. Throw him a life-buoy. 

Clara. Exactly. And Castulo will bear up behind. 
{The three talk in whispers and lau z 

Enter Don Castulo and Luciano. Clara. Trini- 
dad, and Dox Joaquin farm a group to 

the left of the spectator-. Don Castulo and 
Luciano come slozvfy from the other dra: 
rooms and take their places also to leftward. 
Don Castulo is explaining with enthusiasm. 
Luciano listens courteously, but does not cease 
• to direct glances towards Clara. 

Cast. Undeceive yourself, Luciano j there is nothing 
more curious, more instructive, and. I would almost 
dare to say, more profound, than the history of that 
utensil so prosaic in appearance. Oh! the histc: 
the comb from the remotest times — from the cavern 
of the primeval bear, and the ic hyaena, and 

the bristly elephant down to our cays — is the history 
of humanity ! Do you doubt it ? 

Luc. I do not doubt it, Don Castulo. But there I 
see your good lady. . . . 

Cast, (detaining him), Don't believe me on my 
word alone. We archaeologists are inclined to be 
vain ; but I have a collection of combs ! . . . 
Ah! . . . 

Luc. I think Clarita is calling me. 



Mariana. 13 

Cast, {looking aside for a mo?nent). No, she is not 
calling you. You shall call on us to-morrow and pass 
a pleasant time with us. 

Luc. I ? With whom ? 

Cast. Yes, you — with that unrivalled collection. 

Luc. Pah ! — the collection of combs ? 

Cast. The British Museum offered me four thou- 
sand pounds sterling for it. 

Luc. And you did not sell it? 

Cast. Sell it ! I ! ... I said to myself, " Now I 
may call you genuine combs ! " I have — on my word 
of honor — I have combs made of the backbone of 
a fish, of porcupine's quills, of wood, of cane, of bone, 
of crystal, of various metals, even of horn. 

Luc. Horn ! 

Cast. And of bull's horn, indeed. Not to be 
denied, serior — not to be denied. Always remember 
this maxim : where there is a graft there are various 
grafts ; and where there are various grafts or thorns 
there is a comb. 

Luc. The devil ! Can it be true ? I think ... I 
now really think . . . {Wishing to go to Clara; 
Don Castulo detains him.) 

Cast. You must breakfast with us to-morrow, 
and you shall see wonders. I have combs of 
all shapes and of all ages : rectilineal, curvilineal 
triangular, polygonal, representative, non-represen- 
tative, smooth, carven, Doric, Ionic, Corinthian, 
and composite. I have them from Egypt, Assyria, 
Greece . . . there have you grafts, indeed ! . . . from 
Rome . . . there have you combs ! I have those 
which were shattered by barbarians — a sort of petri- 
factive devastation — for those people preferred the 
thistle to the comb for the smoothing of their hair. I 
have even a comb which is said to have belonged to 



14 Mariana. 

Charlemagne ! I have actually . . . actually another 
comb which is declared to have been used by La 
Cava ! * . . . Pure legends ! For on the point of 
combs one must walk with great care. 

Luc. Yes, Clarita, I am coming. (Clara has not 
called him?) Excuse me, Don Castulo ; your wife is 
decidedly calling me. (Don Castulo, growing still 
more enthusiastic in his discourse, is not in time to 
detain him, and Luciano approaches Ci^ara.) 

Cast, (aside). How impertinent these women are ! 
Poor Luciano was enchanted. And you . . . (Ap- 
proaching the group.) 

Trin. (to Don Castulo). Did you say anything? 

Cast. Nothing. You come away from those others. 
(Taking her apart?) 

Trin. Were you tired of playing billiards ? 

Cast. I never play. It is an empty game. To 
aim a stroke at a ball, in order that a ball may roll . . . 
Do you think, my friend, that that noble substance, 
ivory — pure, classical, with all the softness and deli- 
cacy characteristic of the touch of feminine things, 
and all the sudden energy of masculine strength — do 
you think, I repeat, that ivory was created to be 
transformed into diminutive balls, and to endure 
blows from the cues of four idlers? Ah, if the 
elephants knew it, how they would raise the sky with 
their trumpetings ! Make out of ivory artistic little 
figures ; make combs — let me put a case in point — 
which may sink voluptuously into the tresses of a 
beautiful woman — everything, except billiard-balls. 
And, positively, I have in my collection . . . 

Trin. Excuse me ; I must find my brother. . . . 

1 Florinda La Cava, the lover of Rodrigo, the last of the 
Gothic kings. 



Mariana. i 5 

Cast. We shall look for him together. {Preparing 
to accompany her.) 

Trin. Many thanks. Don Joaquin wants you. — 
Don Joaquin. {Calling?) 

Cast. Wants me? . . . Don Joaquin. . . . {Going 
towards him.) 

Joaq. {meeting Castulo). Did you call me? 

Cast. I did not call you . . . but it's all the same ; 
we '11 suppose that I did call you. {Taking possession 
of Don Joaquin.) 

Trin. (she will have approached Clara and 
Luciano while uttering the previous sentences, and 
now says to them). So, good-bye for the present. 

Clara. Are you going already ? 

Trin. No; I shall come back . . . when the 
danger is over {pointing to Don Castulo). 

(Clara and Luciano to the right, speaking in 
whispers; Don Castulo and Don Joaquin to 
the left) 

Cast. What high-strung nerves women have ! 
They cannot be at ease for five minutes : cannot fix 
their attention for two minutes : cannot listen for half 
a minute. 

Joaq. Cannot listen. That 's not always the case. 
(Turning a glance towards Clara, who listens with 
interest, while Luciano speaks with much emphasis) 

Cast. Then it must be when you speak to them of 
fashions. But speak to them of serious things : of 
my collections, for example. . . . 

Joaq. (appalled). Yes. ... I already know . . . 
about those collections ! 

Cast. Very well. I was speaking of them to Trin- 
idad. Now you would have listened for an hour 
consecutively. . . . 



1 6 Mariana. 

Joaq. I hardly think so. 

Cast. Why, you heard me yesterday for three hours ; 
and you heard me breathlessly. Well, Trinidad 
would not listen to me even during the most insignifi- 
cant space of time. 

Joaq. What do you say? . . . She would not! . . . 
She would not listen to you? Impossible! . . . Do 
you hear? . . . Do you hear? (Approaching, with 
great demonstrations of horror, Clara and Luciano, 
in order to take part in their conversation and escape 
from Don Castulo.) 

Clara. What do you say, Don Joaquin ? 

Joaq. That Trinidad finds no amusement in Archae- 
ology ! Repeat that, Don Castulo. 

Luciano. Is it possible? 

Cast. It is possible. Ah ! {to Luciano.) People 
are not all like you. And, by the way {turning to 
Clara), I have requested Luciano to breakfast with 
us to-morrow. I have to show him two or three 
acquisitions. I have fallen in with a Genoese majol- 
ica, which will send you raving. 

Luc. I can believe it. Clarita, your house contains 
treasures. 

Cast. You may well say that to me. 

Luc. How I envy you, Don Castulo ! 

Cast, {laughing). So I imagine. But they are all 
my own. And I have added Amenhotep I., Amenho- 
tep II., and Amenhotep III., to the Egyptian gallery. 
You did not know that. 

Luc. (to Clara). Don't you remember that Trini- 
dad is waiting for you ? 

Clara (rising). It's true. {To her husband.) She 
expects us for the customary game of ombre. 

Luc. Excuse us, Don Castulo. (To Clara.) Shall 
we go there ? 



Mariana. i 7 

Clara. Let us go. 

Cast. But does she positively expect you ? 

Clara. Positively. 

[Exeunt Clara and Luciano. 

Joaq. She expects me also. {Going out. 

Cast, {taking hiin by the arm). No; not you. 
There are four already. Pablo, Trinidad, Clarita, and 
Luciano. You would make one too many. 

Joaq. I am one too many everywhere. 

Cast. You are never one too many for me. — I was 
saying that my Egyptian collection is simply marvel- 
lous. I have some twenty hybrid little figures . . . 
thus we called them. . . . When Luciano saw them 
I thought he would turn faint. I have the Man of 
Straw, the Winged Horse; I have the Human Ox 
. . . and, egad! the last-named strongly resembles 
yourself. 

Joaq. Many thanks. 

Cast. Give those thanks to the Pharaonic artist. 
And, passing on to Assyria, what would you say if 
you saw my collection of beards of Adrammelech and 
of Sarasar the parricide? And then the collection of 
eyebrow tweezers of the wife of Assurbanipal ! With 
them I am now and then seized with the humor of 
plucking out the superfluous hairs on the eyebrows of 
Clarita. 

Joaq. But those are the refinements of Archaeology. 

Cast. And pleasures of which you have no idea. 
(Becoming aniinated.} Time becomes contracted, 
races commingle, the ages are confounded together. 
I live amongst all the men who have been, I jostle 
against them ; we are almost as familiar with each 
other as bosom friends. " Give me the tweezers, 

2 



1 8 Mariana. 

Assurbanipal, my wife is waiting." Or else, " Nabo- 
palasar, give me the brush, I have a mud-stain on my 
trousers." With this pocket-handkerchief Phidias 
wiped his forehead ; in these little shoes perspired the 
tiny feet of a Moorish queen. Oh ! grandeurs of 
history ; oh ! littlenesses of private life ; I have you both 
in my house in the rigorous order of classification. 
The immense wheel of the epic runs in a groove with 
the insignificant pinion of the domestic. What more ? 
In one glass case I have a comb with a quantity of 
hairs which may have been from the beard of Assur- 
banipal. Assurbanipal, Don Joaquin ! In these times, 
as they vulgarly say, and pardon me the phrase, now 
that we are in confidence, in the present day we 
" laugh in the beard " of some one ; but to " laugh in 
the beard " of Assurbanipal on his throne of Nineveh, 
at a distance of thirty centuries — can you understand 
anything more magnificent ? 

Joaq. Yes, sir. {Aside.') To do the same to me 
in this historic moment. 

Cast. You are right. There is something more 
magnificent. For I may tell you . . . 

Joaq. At present it is not possible. . . . 

Cast. Why? 

Joaq. Because Mariana and Daniel are coming 
here. 

Cast. And what then ? 

Joaq. Then they must be left alone to prepare the 
Archaeology of the future. 

Cast. True. 

Joaq. So good-bye for the present. 

Cast. I am going with you. The company of so 
enlightened a man cannot be sufficiently appreciated 
by me. 

Joaq, (in a tone of despair). Nabucodonosor ! 



Mariana. 19 

Cast. I have also something about me of Nabu- 
codonosor. 
Joaq. Something ! No ; a great deal. \_Exeimt. 

Enter Mariana and Daniel, by the right. 

Mar. {bursts into a laugh, and follows with her 
eyes Don Castulo and Don Joaquin). It 's delight- 
ful, most delightful. . . . Ha, ha, ha! 

Dan. How merry you have become all at once, 
Mariana! What are you laughing at? . . . Pardon 
me ; but that laughter . . . 

Mar. Set your mind at ease, Daniel. I am not 
laughing at you. I am laughing at those two — espe- 
cially at Don Joaquin. 

Dan. At Don Joaquin ! 

Mar. At my good friend ; at my respectable guar- 
dian ; at my dear Don Joaquin. 

Dan. Why? 

Mar. Don't you see Don Castulo bearing him off ? 
(Laughing.) Under the power of Don Castulo, who 
will explain to him . . . How do I know what he'll 
explain to him ! Don Joaquin will now be driven 
mad. 

Dan. And you delight in the misery of that good 
gentleman who loves you so much ! 

Mar. I don't delight in his misery : I laugh at it — 
two very distinct things. 

Dan. If you treat your friends thus, how do you 
treat your enemies ? 

Mar. In the same way. I find no great difference 
between the one and the other of them. Friend . . . 
enemy ... all depends, as Don Castulo would say, 
on the historic moment when you consider him. You 
are my friend to-day ; to-morrow you will be my 
enemy. 



20 Mariana. 

Dan. Never! 

Mar. Never is the most useless word in the dic- 
tionary. For goodness' sake, Daniel, don't come to 
me this evening with romanticisms which are out of 
fashion now ; and permit me to laugh without malice 
at my dearest Don Joaquin, who is being marched 
triumphantly through my drawing-rooms by Don 
Castulo, as a conqueror of ancient times might have 
dragged behind his chariot of war a vanquished 
king, 

Dan. Ah ! Mariana, Don Castulo is not the only 
one who drags through your drawing-rooms the poor 
slaves enchained to a triumphal car. 

Mar. There is another who is guilty of similar 
inhumanities ? 

Dan. I think so. 

Mar. And that other despot is myself? 

Dan. Yourself: and you know it. 

Mar. Good: then I will not be inhuman, nor 
despotic, nor cruel, nor carry slaves about with me. I 
break the chain and give them liberty. {Rising as if 
to go away.) 

Dan. No, for God's love, Mariana; don't go away. 
The chain cannot be broken. And even if you should 
break it, the slave would follow you to the end of the 
world, to the end of life. 

Mar. These fits of exaggeration make me nervous, 
and, furthermore, they make you and me look 
ridiculous. 

Dan. Do you want us to speak seriously ? 

Mar. Speak seriously ! That would be a cruelty. 
But, in short, speak — and as you please. {Sits 
down.) 

Dan. Mariana, do you love me or hate me? I 
don't know : tell me the truth yourself. 



Mariana. 2 1 

Mar. {laughs). That he may love me if I love him ; 
that he may hate me if I hate him. 

Dan. That I may live ... or that I may die ; but 
always for my Mariana. 

Mar. What bursts of profound passion ! 

Dan. Don't sneer at me. 

Mar. I am not sneering. 

Dan. Then answer me fairly : is it hatred, is it 
love? 

Mar. {approaching him and looking at hint with 
something of coquetry, something of tenderness). Well 
... I don't know, myself. (A pause : they look at 
each other for some moments) 

Dan. Perhaps you say what you feel. 

Mar. I am very frank. 

Dan. But why did you speak of hating me ? {In a 
softened tone) I adore Mariana as one adores the 
angels. I think of you night and day with infinite 
fondness ; if by any chance you call me, saying sim- 
ply: "Daniel!" all the fibres of my being tremble, 
as a man might tremble who is summoned by his God. 
Is that a motive for hatred? What reason have you 
to abhor me ? 

Mar. {listening to him with a kind of pleasure). 
None; and that makes it all the more agreeable. 
A hatred with a motive is a melodramatic hatred ; a 
hatred without cause is a most artistic, most refined 
hatred, worthy of you and worthy of me, who are 
people of good taste. 

Dan. So that you hate me? 

Mar. If you are tiresome, what must I do ? 

Dan. Mariana, Mariana, why do you delight in 
torturing me? 

Mar. How am I to know? Come, let's see: let 
us discuss the subject together. Let's begin: let's 



2 2 Mariana. 

treat it . . . archaeologically ; let 's recall the time 
when I did not know you. 

Dan. And when I did not know you, either. 

Mar. Chance caused us to see each other for the 
first time. 

Dan. Chance it was. I was passing one day 
through the street, my father leaning on my arm — 
for the poor man was, and is, very ill. . . . 

Mar. Does he suffer much ? 

Dan. Very much, Mariana. 

Mar. Poor sefior ! Some day we must take out 
the carriage and go and see him. His country house 
is two or three leagues from Madrid, is it not? 

Dan. At most ; and how grateful to you the poor 
old man would be ! 

Mar. Go on. You were passing by with your 
father, who was so enveloped in rugs that I could not 
see him. You I did see. {Laughing.) 

Dan. And I you. It was the first time I had seen 
you. 

Mar. The first . . . and when will the last be? 
Who can pierce into the future ! {Pensively.) 

Dan.. Do you want it to be soon? 

Mar. No: frankly; I do not want it. {Softly,) 
How sad it would be not to see you ! 

Dan. Mariana! 

Mar. How dull and how wearisome existence 
would be without a person to . . . 

Dan. To love? 

Mar. What impudence ! I said no such thing. 

Dan. Then ... to torment. 

Mar. Torment or love, it 's all the same. 

Dan. Then let it be ; I accept the torment and the 
affection. 

Mar. For the present — let the former suffice. 



Mariana. 23 

Dan. How cruel you are ! 

Mar. Get on, get on with the romantic first meet- 
ing. You passing with your father, and I in an open 
carriage waiting at the door of a shop. Is n't that it? 

Dan. And I looking at you, and thinking, " How 
happy I should be if that woman would address a 
word to me, a single word ! Just to hear her voice ! " 

Mar. Well, since that time you must have been 
very happy, for we have spoken a great deal together, 

Dan. I have been so. 

Mar. And nothing else happened? Because I 
don't remember. 

Dan. Yes ; a poor child, ragged, almost naked, with 
hungry face, asked an alms from you. 

Mar. It 's true. These abandoned children. (Sadly 
and pensively) 

Dan. You looked at her with pity, with sympathy, 
with affection, and your beautiful eyes were bedimmed 
with a rain-cloud of tears. You gave her a piece of 
money, and told her your private address, which I 
heard plainly. And I thought, " She is very good." 

Mar. The proof was conclusive. {Mockingly) 

Dan. You raised your glance, you fixed it on me, 
and your face had changed. Your first look had been 
like a sunbeam which falls upon a drop of rain and is 
transformed into a rainbow. Your second look was 
like the same sunbeam when it wanders on and falls 
upon a dark and lonely cloud, and is converted into 
a purple reflex of it. And I reluctantly thought, 
" That 's a very bad woman." 

Mar. The case is clear : you had been guilty of an 
impertinence and I could not restrain my annoyance. 
You called to the child and gave her an alms, as if to 
say, " I must do likewise ; between us two we shall 
succour this poor creature ; now, madame, there 's a 



24 Mariana. 

tie that binds us." That's what you thought; and I 
thought: i; How impertinent that interesting young 
fellow is ! " 

Dan. Mariana ! . . . 

Mar. Yes. you may complain, and I have in- 
voluntarily called you interesting ; I had almost said 
prepossessing. 

Dan. I shall be what you please; let me conclude. 
I made inquiries and found that you were the 
daughter of a rich banker who had died in America. 
I sought for some one to introduce me to your 
house . . . 

Mar. And I received you very well, did I not? 

Dan. Certainly. 

Mar. And since then, for all that you may say. I 
have not treated you badly. I allow you to speak to 
me of your affection, to accompany me everywhere. 
Come, I have almost compromised my reputation for 
you. 

Dan. Xo. not that, Mariana. To beg you on my 
knees — if that be necessary — that you should be my 
wife, is not to compromise you. 

Mar. Your wife ! . . . {laughing) What an idea ! 

Dan. Why not ? You are rich ... it is true . . . 

Mar. Who is thinking of that ? 

Dan. But so am I, though not so rich ; you are 
young and beautiful. . . . 

Mar. (jestingly). You are not old, and I have 
already said what I '11 not now repeat. . . 

Dan. Is your position high ? My father's has been 
so. Are you anxious to mount higher? I shall 
mount for you. I deliver myself up to you entirely, 
unconditionally. My life, my happiness, my soul, 
my honor, all the conceptions of my brain, all the 
pulsations of my heart, even to the last drop of my 



Mariana. 25 

blood, everything is yours. To you I shall be as a 
brother, as a father, as a slave, as a lover; all ! Say 
to me, " Be my adorer," and, to adore you the sooner, 
I shall bow down with such violence as to shatter my 
forehead against the stones ! Say to me, " Fool, 
amuse me," and I shall adorn my skull with cap and 
bells. Say to me, " That creature vexes me," then I 
shall kill the creature and become a murderer. Say 
to me, " Love me," and on that day, if you have not 
a heart, I shall die in your arms ; if you have a heart, 
you shall die in mine ! 

Mar. Not so fast; not so fast, Daniel; we are not 
playing a scene in a comedy. Still, do you know 
that if all this is true you must be very fond of me. 
{Looking closely at him with curiosity, interest, and 
sympathy.) But don't you think that such things 
have been often said in this world and that they have 
nearly always been lies ? {Growing dubious.) 

Dan, Not on my lips, Mariana. 

Mar. Well, look you, whether falsehood or truth, 
you have said all that with such fire, with an accent 
of such profound emotion, that I believe it — provision- 
ally. Don't interrupt me. This evening I want us 
both to be in good humor, both to be happy ; happy 
— provisionally. To-morrow, God will tell. . . . 
{Stopping another movement on the part 0/" Daniel.) 
Don't interrupt me. What you have said to me has 
gone to my very soul ; after all I am a woman, and 
women are deceived so easily. I also feel longings 
to love. Do you think not ? I also am pleased with 
the affection in which I may be held. And to be 
much loved ought to be a very great happiness — is it 
not true ? To think that a man, good, generous, 
brave, intellectual, is dying for one ! M I can make 
him laugh, I can make him cry ! " That 's delightful. 



26 Mariana. 

To hold the heart of a being so strong and so de- 
serving as you, between one's hands, as one might 
say — between these hands — so very small, so feeble ; 
and I squeeze and press his heart to suffocation, and 
I fondle it and it palpitates to very madness. And 
nobody in the world can do as much for that man's 
happiness as I ! Believe me, Daniel, that makes one 
proud. On witnessing in you so much love, so much 
self-denial, such abandonment of your ovvn existence 
to the will of such a poor woman as myself, I feel 
impulses to repay your fondness with a fondness quite 
as great ... no — greater ! No one shall outvie me, 
when I set myself to be generous. Go on as you 
have begun; go on — and some day I shall not be able 
to contain myself, and I will say to yau like a mad- 
woman, " Daniel, Daniel, I love you with all my 
soul." {In this speech there is evident sincerity ; she 
secretly feels what she says, although she endeavors 
at Jimes to assume a tone of jocularity, especially at 
the beginning?) 

Dan. But do you feel all that you have said? My 
God, I don't believe it. Can it be true? {With a 
movemeitt of impetuous joy.) 

Mar. (resummg her airs of coquetry, and arresting 
his enthusiasm). A provisional truth : a hypothetical 
truth : for this night — while these emotions last. 
When they pass off, I know neither what I shall 
think nor what I shall say. 

Dan. You will end by driving me mad. 

Mar. God help me, nothing satisfies you. I who 
was so full of joy ! I felt as I have not felt for a long 
time. I imagined myself a restless child. ... I even 
had my projects . . . ravings ! . . . But with my 
projects and my ravings I associated you. {With an 
alluring and almost tender accent?) 



Mariana, 2 7 

Dan. Is it true? Ah, Mariana! . . . Let those 
ravings come and let us both plunge into them. 

Mar. No! not now; you have made me sad. 
(She feigns an endearing sadness.) 

Dan. Pardon me; forget my impertinences. Let 
me see, let me see . . . tell me what were the projects. 

Mar. (mysteriously). They were projects for this 
evening. 

Dan. I don't understand. 

Mar. Night is the great concealer of madcap 
escapades. The light of the sun is like a prying 
judge ; the shadows of the night are wayward. And 
I . . . Shall I say it? . . . 

Dan. Yes, Mariana. 

Mar. This night there takes place in the Real a 
grand masked ball ; a charity ball. And I was think- 
ing of a hood, a mask — and the arm of Daniel to take 
me to my box. 

Dan. We two. 

Mar. (correcting the impertinence ^/Daniel, but 
without seeming to have mider stood it). With Clarita 
and Trinidad. I spoke to them and very likely 
everything is arranged. 

Dan. {with a kind of suspicion). And who else? 

Mar. Luciano, who will give his arm to Clarita. 
Don Castulo (laughing) in all solemnity escorting 
Trinidad. And with me ... I have already mentioned 
my escort ; that is to say, if you are deserving. 

Dan. Nobody else ? 

Mar. We count on no one else. 

Dan. So that Don Pablo? . . . 

Mar. I was not thinking of Don Pablo . . . unless 
you despise my company. 

Dan. How cruel you are ! . . . No, how good ! . . . 
An angel ! . . . Such an appearance do angels wear. 



28 Mariana. 

Mar. {laughing). Do angels go to the ball at the 
Real wearing hoods and masks ? I was n't aware of 
that. 

Dan. Yes, sefiora — and on the arm of Daniel. 

Mar. What madcaps they must be ! 

Dan. Well, let us go there; it is very late, 
Mariana; it is very late. 

Mar. There 's plenty of time. And we have to 
arrange several things. For instance, my attendant 
knight must have a device. Will this flower be a 
good device? {Taking out one which she wears in 
her bosom.) 

Dan. With this flower. . . . {Taking it with frantic 
eagerness and trying to fix it in his coat, but not 
succeeding?) 

Mar. Yes ; I know already. With that flower you 
will scale the heavens or descend to the bottomless 
abyss ! All such enterprises you are capable of 
accomplishing. What you can't do is to fix that 
flower into your buttonhole — unless I help you. 

Dan. And would you do it ? . . . 

Mar. Help my knight? . . . Why not ? . . . It 
is the obligation of the dame, and it is a work of 
mercy. {Fixing the flower?) 

Dan. Of mercy, Mariana ! 

Mar. I think it is more a mercy. . . . 

Dan. It is not yet . . . it has not remained fixed . . . 
{That she may not go away from him) It is going to 
fall. . . . 

Mar. Yes . . . Yes ... It has kept fast. And 
now have sense, for here comes Don Pablo. 

Enter Don Pablo. 

Dan. The devil take Don Pablo ! What business 
have these military men in drawing-rooms ? To the 



Mariana. 29 

field, to the field of honor, to die with glory ! That's 
what they are for, and not to come between Mariana 
and myself. 

Pablo (to Mariana). Do you permit me to 
approach ? 

Mar. I permit it and I request it. And I beg you 
to take a seat here, at my side. (They both sit down. 
Daniel i-emains 071 foot.) 

Pablo. But is my conversation agreeable to you ? 

Mar. Good heavens, general ! . . . You know it is. 

Pablo. I am no speaker of gallantries. 

Mar. True affection is not on the lips. 

Pablo. It is in the heart. 

Dan. When the affection is not very great it 
remains there. When it is abundant ... it over- 
flows from the lips. 

Mar. According to the fitness of things, Daniel ; 
it depends on the capacity of the vessel ; when it is 
small it quickly overflows. 

Pablo. Well said. 

Mar. Well said . . . but it is well said because it 
has been in defence of you. {To Don Paelo.) 

Pablo. Thanks, Mariana. 

Dan. It is not a very brilliant part — that of a 
soldier who requires to be defended. 

Pablo. Here I need and I accept the defence of 
Mariana; away from here, I alone defend myself as 
best I can. 

Mar. Very well said. 

Dan. Then I say . . . (Impetuously.) 

Mar. You say nothing. You surrender yourself as 
vanquished. For you have been so, and on your 
own ground. 

Pablo. If you declare me the conqueror, what 
greater glory could I have ! 



3<d Mariana. 

Dan. If you declare me vanquished, what greater 
defeat could I suffer ! 

Mar. But every victory requires a trophy. {Seek- 
ing on her breast for the flower which she had given 
to Daniel ) Ah ! . . . I thought I was wearing a 
flower . . . 

Dan. This is the one, Mariana. 

Mar. It's true: I did not remember. I '11 get one 
for the general. {Approaches a branch and plucks 
a flower) Take this, general. 

Pablo. Mariana ! ( Tries to fix the flower, but 
goes awkwardly about it.) 

Dan. {aside), Ah ! . . . she does n't go near him 
. . . she does n't fix his flower for him. 

Mar. Can't you fix it, general ? 

Pablo. I am very clumsy. 

Dan. {without knowing what he says, and to pre- 
vent Mariana from helping Don Pablo, approaches 
the last named with much solicitude). If you can- 
not I shall help you. 

Pablo, {looking at him from head to foot). 
Thanks : I can do it myself. 

Mar. {laughing). What a joke! . . . {aside to 
Daniel.) There 's nobody can make himself so 
ridiculous as a lover. 

Dan. {aside to Mariana). Rather than have you 
go near him to fix that flower, I 'd have buried a sword 
or a bullet in his heart. 

Mar. {aside). High tragedy ! 

Pablo. It's done now. 

Dan. {mockingly). A new victory for the general : 
it cost labor; but he has conquered, and this time 
without the help of Mariana. 

Pablo. The finest and most enjoyable victories are 
those which cost much. 



Mariana. 31 

Dan. If they don't cost life. 

Pablo. They generally do cost life — to the 
defeated. 

Dax. Not always. Just now I was defeated — 
according to Mariana — and I am full of life. 

Pablo. Skirmishes are not always sanguinary. 

Mar. You, general, neither can nor ought to risk 
your noble existence in light skirmishes, but on fields 
of battle. And now the skirmish has ended. (Dox 
Pablo and Daniel bow respectfully and preserve 
silence.) Will you give me your arm — (to the 
General) — and take me to Trinidad ? — for I want 
to speak to her. 

Pablo. Senora . . . 

Dan. And I, am I to wait? 

Mar. As you please, Daniel. 

Dan. You said . . . 

Mar. Ah! ... yes ... it's true. . . . What a 
head I have to-night! Yes, wait for me, Daniel. 
I shall come back soon. We have a project, 
general, of which you are ignorant. 

Dan. (in a supplicating tone). It is a secret, 
Mariana ! . . . 

Pablo. A secret ! 

Mar. But we shall shortly reveal it to you. 

Dan. By God ! . . . 

Mar. We shall reveal it to you to-morrow. 

[Exeunt Pablo and Mariana. 

Enter Don Joaquin as if in flight, and turning his 
head to see if he is pursued by Don Castulo. 

Dan. That woman will drive me mad. 
Joaq. You say that that wo7nan will drive you 
mad? 

Dan. Yes. 



32 Mariana. 

Joaq. Well, that man has driven me mad. 

Dan. Who? 

Joaq. Don Castulo. I carry within here (pressing 
his head) all the Egyptians, all the Babylonians, — 
a Babylonian chaos, 1 indeed ! All the Greeks, all 
the Romans, and all the barbarians — the barbarians 
above all. I carry all the Pharaonic mummies, and 
all the Merovingian skeletons. I carry . . . Ah ! 
I carry this letter, which seems very urgent. 
{Showing a letter which he bears in his hand.) 

Dan. A letter? 

Joaq. For you. It comes from your house, from 
which it was brought this very moment. A servant of 
your father brought it. 

Dan. From my father ! (Taking the letter 
hurriedly .) 

Joaq He arrived a quarter of an hour since in a 
carriage, with orders to seek you all over Madrid 
without losing an instant, and to drive you out to the 
villa. 

Dan. (reading). God help me ! . . . 

Joaq. What's the matter? Has your father been 
taken ill ? 

Dan. It's what I feared. Another fit is expected; 
my sister is very much alarmed ; I must go at once. 

Joaq. Don't be prematurely alarmed. Either the 
lit will not come on, or he will get over this as he did 
over the previous one. 

Dan. Who knows ? ... In any case, I must go 
without losing an instant. My poor father ! . . . 

Joaq. Then come ... I shall accompany you as 
far as the carriage. 

Dan. Yes, let us go . . . (Stopping.) But I must 

1 Babilonia — a perfect Babel. 



Mariana. 33 

first take leave of Mariana. ... Of Mariana. . . . 
Oh ! accursed coincidence ! 

Re-enter Mariana by a side door with a doinino or 
hood, and a mask in her hand; she enters looking 
very i?terry and affectio7iate. 

Mar. Here you see me, Daniel. I have not 
forgotten our solemn promise ! Trinidad, Clarita, 
Don Castulo and Luciano will be there. But you are 
not coming {to Don Joaquin) nor Don Pablo. You 
steady-going people must remain to play at ombre. 

Dan. Mariana ! 

Mar. What a gloomy expression on your face ! 
Are you vexed ? Don Joaquin, Daniel is vexed, and 
I know why. He considers that I have been ex- 
cessively amiable to Don Pablo. Poor Daniel ! 

Dan. Mariana. 

Joaq. (aside — walking to the back). The three 
hundred and sixty-fifth reconciliation they have had 
within the past year! 

Mar. ( looks at him for a few moments, then ap- 
proaches him and says in a so?newhat tremulotis voice). 
Don't be jealous : if the day should come for me to 
fall in love . . . I 'll not be answerable for the coming 
of that day — eh ? but if it should come, it will only be 
with one man : only with one man — whom I know. 

Dan. {eagerly). With whom ? 

Mar. {a pause : they gaze at each other). Come to 
the Real, and I 'll tell you in the private box. 

Dan. (desperately). I cannot. 

Mar. {in displeasiire). I don't understand. 

Dan. I have just received this letter . . . my 
father is ill. ... I must set out this very moment for 
his country seat. I kept back so as to take leave of 
you. Forgive me, Mariana. 
3 



34 Mariana. 

Mar. I am very sorry. ... It is natural: you 
cannot accompany me. 

Dan. Perhaps death is waiting for me. . . . And 
I carry away death in my soul ! 

Mar. No, Daniel: the first is first. And your 
father is very ill ! 

Dan. They write to me in fear lest the fit should 
come on again. 

Mar. But are these, after all, no more than fears ? 
. . . Come, it is not so bad. 

Dan. Nothing more than fears . . . but you under- 
stand. . . . 

Mar. I should think so. Yes, it is very proper. It 
is very natural that you should be alarmed . . . and 
that you should go away leaving everything behind 
... me and the whole world. 

Dan. Leave you ! , . . Don't say that. ... It is 
that chance pursues me with the most cruel and 
cunning determination. Leave Mariana ! 
* Mar. There, enough : say no more : go, go, 
Daniel, and let there be nothing further said about 
it. 

Dan. Mariana. . . . 

Mar. Parents are sacred. What would I not have 
given for my mother ? What would I not sacrifice to 
her memory? Happiness, pleasure, love . . . life! 
And you hesitate, Daniel? (With profound emotion) 
Run quickly to your father, or I shall believe that you 
are like all men — selfish ! {The last sentence dryly, 
almost contemptuously \ A pause : then after looking 
at Daniel.) Don Joaquin, will you tell Don Pablo 
what has happened . . . and see if he will be kind 
enough to prepare to be my escort ? 

Dan. Mariana! 

Joaq. With great pleasure. [Exit. 



Mariana. 35 

Mar. {arranging her costume with indifference 
and looking in the mirror). Well, are you not going ? 

Dan. Mariana . . . don't go to the Real. 

Mar. Daniel ! 

Dan. Pardon me. ... I know it is presumption on 
my part. 

Mar. I shall not give it that name ... it 's a piece 
of childishness. You have lost your senses. 

Dan. Madness, childishness . . . what you like 
. . . but I implore you with all my soul. That whim 
is of such little worth to you. What will it cost you 
to please me ? And I surfer so much ... I suffer so 
much. Jealousy ! . . . Anger . . . envy . . . envy 
of that man ! . . . I even forget my father. . . Don't 

go- 

Mar. Don't persist. You have no authority to 
make a slave of me. That which I began by laughing 
at as childishness I shall conclude by resenting as 
impertinence. 

Dan. Well, don't go with Don Pablo. 

Mar. After my having requested him to accompany 
me ! Good God, do you want to make me look ridic- 
ulous ? These things cannot be done, Daniel. And 
that I esteem you and have consideration for your 
annoyance and your state of excitement is proved by 
the docility with which I am giving you explanations 
— which were, indeed, unnecessary. {Continues to 
arrange herself.) Do you fulfil your duties as a 
son : I shall fulfil other duties . . . duties to society. 

Dan. Duties ! . . . A caprice ! . . . An empty 
caprice ! . . . 

Mar. Well, I shall fulfil my caprice. What would 
you have ? I am so selfish and so perverse that I 
attach more importance to my caprices than to 
yours. 



36 Mariana. 

Dan. For the last time ! 
Mar. Enough. 

Enter Clara and Trinidad (by a side door) with 
dominos and hoods: Don Castulo and 
Luciano. They come in laughing and talking. 

Trin. (to Mariana). Are you read)'? 

Clara. Are we going or not going? 

Mar. As soon as Don Pablo arrives. (The :' 
ladies talk apart.) 

Cast. Well, if I had known ! I have a collection of 
Venetian masks. . . . 

Luc. I can picture them to myself. . . . 

Cast. Perhaps you don't know of the first mask 
that ever was used ? 

Luc. I don't know. (Rushes away: Don 
Castulo follows him.) 

Cast. Then I shall tell you. 

Clara (to Daniel). So you can't accompany us? 
What a pity ! . . . Especially for the cause. 

Trin. (to Daniel). But is there matter for 
anxiety ? 

Dan. I don't know. 

Mar. Let 's hope it 's a false alarm. But don't be 
detained on our account. Leave these nonsensical 
heads to be delivered up to their follies. Here comes 
Don Pablo. 

Enter Don Pablo and Don Joaquin. Mariana 
goes to meet the for rr.. 

So you will accompany us . . . and accompany me ? 

Pablo. To be with you. where would I not go ? 

Mar. Always so good ! Always so amiable ! 
These are what I call sacrifices ! A person like you 

to take part in our escapades ! Thanks, general, 



Mariana. 3 7 

thanks ! . . . Good-bye, Daniel, I hope sincerely that 
you will find your father well. It is possible that on 
your return here you will not find me, as I think of 
going for a few days to La Granja . . . Would you 
like to accompany me there, Don Pablo ? 

Pablo. I am a soldier, and obedience to superiors 
is a matter of duty with me. I am a gentleman, and 
obedience to a lady is a law of gallantry. 

Mar. Here 's a surrender ! — you others take notice. 
Good-bye, Don Joaquin. Good-bye, Daniel; good 
wishes . . . till I see you again . . . whenever that 
may be. {Giving Daniel her hand) 

Dan. (in a hard, low voice). I don't wish you to 

g°- 

Mar. Daniel, for God's sake. . . . March on . . . 
{To Don Pablo.) Your arm. Go on, go on. {All 
going to the door) 

Clara. To the Real and to supper ! 

Trin. To the supper and the champagne. 

{Exeunt Clara and Trinidad. 

Mar. En avant ! le drapeau est engage. Lead us 
to victory, my dear general. 

Pablo. And where is the victory ? 

Mar. And does a general ask that ? Where some 
one may be conquered. 

\_Exeunt Pablo and Mariana. 

Cast, {to Luciano). Well, no one shall conquer 
me in the possession of masks, dominos, caricature 
masks, pasteboard masks, and all the masks that ever 
were invented. 

Luc. I believe it. [Exeunt Castulo and Luciano. 

Dan. I cannot do it. ... I will not leave her . . . 
Mariana ! 

Joaq. You cannot be false to your duty. Go where 
your obligation as a son calls you ! 



38 Mariana. 

Dan. But that woman ! 

Joaq. She is a woman, and your father is your 
father. 

Dan. A woman who will be my damnation! Have 
no fear. Now, to where my father suffers. After- 
wards, to where she enjoys herself. Afterwards . . . 
afterwards . . . how can I know . . . how can I 
know into what abyss we shall roll together ? 

Joaq. Poor Daniel ! 

Dan. I shall return, Mariana. [Exeunt. 



END OF ACT I. 



ACT II. 

Scene — A drawing-room in the mansion ^/"Mariana 
differing from that of Act I. Adorned with 
luxury. In the background two doors which look 
on to the garden. 

Time — Day : towards the close of afternoon, 

Enter Clara, Trinidad, and Luciano. 

Trin. That is to say, we are all bringing to this 
visit our objective, as Pablo says when he speaks of 
war. 

Clara. All. 

Luc. All ! {Looking at Clara.) 

Clara {to Trinidad). Which is yours, if one 
may know? 

Trin. I have already given you an indication of it, 
and in your case neither my brother nor I could have 
secrets. I am Minister Plenipotentiary, and I come 
as representative of the general, {hi a 7nysterious 
tone.) 

Clara. That 's understood. To ask in all solemnity 
the hand of Mariana. 

Trin. Not yet; these are preliminary negotiations. 
My brother cannot expose himself to a repulse, and 
previous to the Official Act, it is imperative that 
Mariana should tell me in frankness what is the state 



40 Mariana. 

of her mind. She notices Pablo very much ; respects 
him, admires him, shows exceptional favor towards 
him — you cannot picture to yourself how amiable she 
was to my brother during the eight days that they 
passed at La Granja. In any other woman it would 
be equivalent to saying, " Declare your intentions." 
In Mariana ... I don't know. 

Luc. She also distinguishes Daniel by great marks 
of favor. 

Trin. Daniel was not at La Granja. 

Luc. Because he was attending to Senor de Mon- 
toya . . . until the danger should have passed away. 
There was danger there of being left without a father; 
danger here of being left without a bride. The land 
of life is sown with the seed of dangers ; and what a 
harvest springs from that seed time. 

Trin. Daniel is nothing more to Mariana than a 
toy, a subject of diversion. (To Luciano.) Undeceive 
yourself; if she cared for him she would not martyr 
him as she does. At times it arouses pity. 

Clara. But if Mariana be so cruel, if you have 
such a bad opinion of our good friend, why do you 
accept her as the wife of Pablo? 

Trin. No, dear, this is not having a bad opinion 
of Mariana. Good heavens ! must a woman be 
considered bad because she torments a man ? Where 
should we be coming to? It is only taking by antici- 
pation the revenge which the husband will afterwards 
wreak upon her. (Laughing?) 

Clara (to Luciano). You hear that, now. 

Luc/(^ Trinidad). Many thanks in the name of 
the sex. 

Trin. Of what sex ? 

Luc. Of mine — of the stronger sex. 

Trin. I did n't mean it for you. 



Mariana. 41 

Clara. Poor Luciano ! Don't you torment him ; 
my husband tortures him quite enough. (Laughing.) 
Luc. Ah ! ... Ah ! Don Castulo. 

Trix. Besides, if there are men so worthless and 
so pusillanimous as to let themselves be tortured . . . 
away with them ! Why, Mariana never treats Pablo 
in this way. And if they eventually marry, Pablo 
will be the master, — respectful, but energetic ; loving, 
but . . . not long-suffering ; and these coquettish 
outbreaks . . . will have come to an end. 

Clara. It's true. Don Pablo, in any case, will be 
the physician of his own honor. 

Luc. (in a low voice to Clara). He was so, or was 
on the point of being so, with his first wife, as the 
tale runs. 

Clara {aside). Silence ! 

Luc. Well, the general is a great personage and an 
heroic general ; but, for a husband . . . {aside) I 
prefer the Archaeologist. 

Trin. Now, dear Clarita, I have confided my 
secret to you. And you, what brings you to 
Mariana's mansion to-day? This is not a day on 
which the lady of the house receives. 

Clara. I also come as an ambassadress. 

Trin. And you? (7^ Luciano.) 

Luc. I come as an attache to the embassy. 

Clara. But the business that brings me is not so 
transcendental as yours. Within a few days Castulo 
inaugurates his Saloon of Mexican Antiquities, and he 
wishes to solemnize the ceremony by giving a break- 
fast to his intimate friends. I am coming personally 
to invite Mariana; my husband will have already 
personally invited Don Pablo, and we both invite you. 
Furthermore ... by ticket. My dear, we still have 
classes. (Laiighing.) 



42 Mariana. 

Trin. Always so amiable ! 

Luc. And so archaeological. 

Clara. Don 't be ungrateful to poor Castulo. He 
showed you through the Mexican saloon before any 
one. He has nothing in his house reserved from you. 

Luc. It 's true ; for that reason my gratitude will be 
eternal. 

Trin. {growing impatient). But this Mariana is 
not coming back. 

Clara. We were told that she had gone out in her 
carriage for a drive through the Retiro. As she was 
not receiving to-day . . . and as poor Mariana had 
been very nervous and very sad, according to what 
the maid told me . . . she wished no doubt to have a 
little relaxation. 

Luc. Mariana is not happy. Ah ! nobody is 
happy. 

Trin. It is not easy for her to be happy with her 
temperament. She requires to be married, believe 
me.* She needs a husband of steadiness and judg- 
ment to put order into that capricious, irregular, 
undisciplined brain. 

Luc. For that there is nothing like military dis- 
cipline. 

Clara. As I have been informed by Castulo, who 
knew her when she was quite a child, . . . she was 
almost from infancy a very strange creature, . . . 
and then those family unpleasantnesses . . . 

Luc. I have heard something too. It seems that 
Mariana's mother . . . 

Clara. That's it. 

Trin. Tell me, tell me. 

Clara. My dear, I know very little, — the little that 
Castulo has told me, and Castulo is not well informed 
about anything except what took place two thousand 



Mariana. 43 

years ago. In affairs of the present day he is 
completely out of his latitude. 

Trin. Still he must have told you something. 

Clara. It seems that Mariana's mother suffered a 
good deal from her husband — who was a man of gold ! 

Luc. That 's the way you ladies have of saying 
that he was a banker. 

Trin. And in the end Mariana's mother ... eh ? 

Clara. She was very good, very good — an angel. 

Trin. And what more ? 

Clara. Well, Castulo knows no more. For at that 
time he had to undertake a voyage of exploration to 
the ruins of Babylon ... or of Troy ... I don't 
know which ; he was absent three years, and on his 
return he found that Mariana's mother had died. 

Trin. And is that all? 

Clara. Castulo heard something of a scandal, a 
flight to London, but all in a vague manner. Mariana 
was eleven years old, and already claimed attention 
for her divine beauty and her profound sadness. 
Castulo says that the child was a sweet little Niobe. 

Trin. (to Luciano). Who was Niobe ? 

Luc. Niobe . . . Niobe . . . Don Castulo has 
explained that to me several times, but I don't 
remember. Something about " sorrow petrified." 

Clara. Did n't either of you hear a carriage ? It 
should be Mariana. 

Luc. (looking towards the garden). Yes, it is. 

Enter ^IXRiANAfrom back centre. 

Mar. But, good gracious, why did n't you let me 
know ? 

Trin. Make no apologies. 

Clara. I only thought of coming out at the last 
moment . . . 



44 Mariana. 

Mar. How are you, Luciano ? 

Luc. Always your most obedient. 

Mar. I could have no idea that you would come. 
We made no arrangement last night. 

Trin. People always have a pleasure in being kept 
waiting at your house. 

Mar. God help me ! And have you had to wait 
long ? 

Clara. No; half-an-hour at the most. 

Mar. You see I was much worried. I was not 
well. And I went out for the sake of going out. To 
change my position, as invalids do. 

Trin. But are you ill ? 

Mar. No, I am not really ill. But — how am I to 
explain it? . . . The day opened gloomily . . . with- 
out light . . . without sun. ... I need much light, 
torrents of light. Obscurity — singularly enough . . . 
makes me nervous. The very opposite of what hap- 
pens to everybody else. 

Luc. So that you would not be able to live in 
London? 

Mar. London ! . . . (Restraining herself.) Ah ! 
don't speak to me of London. . . . (With a so?ne- 
ivhat forced laugh^) Unsympathetic, insufferable, 
odious. Believe me — odious! Oh, that fog ! That 
dulness ! Crowded — yet a desert. Great uproar; 
and in the soul, silence. Much life ! — and beside it, 
death. Oh ! I have not re-visited London ; I never 
shall go back to it. (As if mastered in spite of her- 
self by sorrowful memories.) 

Clara. When were you there ? 

Mar. {as if waking suddenly). When? . . . Ah, 
yes ; when I was quite a child. 

Trin. Still, you remember it well. 

Mar. The memory of children is prodigious. I 



Mariana. 45 

was seven years of age, or not much more : I went 
back there three years afterwards. But let us not 
speak of London. {Changing her tone.) Let us talk 
of Italy, of Africa, of Asia. . . . (Feigning gay ety.) 
Listen (to Clara), I am going to rob you of your 
husband, and he and I shall make a journey, our two 
selves alone, to the East. Just imagine: I don't 
know one word of all those antique subjects that he 
knows from every point of view ; and, nevertheless, 
be assured that I like them very much. No, Clarita, 
I must rob }*ou of Castulo, and we shall set out 
together, the two of us — marching with our faces to 
the rising sun. 

Luc. A good idea, yes! — Steal him from us and 
take him far, far away. 

Clara. Well, we shall see, we shall see. I don't 
know whether I shall give my consent ; but to-day I 
come to ask yours. 

Mar. Mine? 

Clara. Yes. Let me explain the diplomatic mis- 
sion that brings me. I invite you in the name of my 
husband, and in my own name, to give us your com- 
pany at breakfast on Sunday. A grand solemnity — 
connected with the inauguration of our Chamber of 
Mexican Antiquities. There will be few of us — but all 
intimate friends : Trinidad, Don Pablo, Luciano. . . . 

Mar. (hesitatingly). I don't know. . . . 

Clara. Don Joaquin and Daniel. 

Mar. (changing her tone). Then I accept. With 
all my life and soul, and I am most heartily obliged to 
you for your courtesy. Mexican antiquities ! They 
ought to be very curious. 

Clara. Ask Luciano. 

Luc. Ah ! Yes, senora, they are indeed. Very 
curious. 



46 Mariana. 

Mar. And you say on Sunday? 

Clara. Sunday. We are still several days off it: 
but I was anxious to anticipate, so that you should not 
accept an engagement elsewhere. 

Mar. Sunday, then. The Mexican antiquities. 

Clara. So I have terminated my embassy, and 
now I retire, in order that Trinidad may deliver her 
credentials. 

Mar. Are you, too, charged with a mission ? 

Trin. A very special one. But no, my dear (to 
Clara), don't go away. 

Mar. No ; by no means. You shall take a cup of 
tea, and then you shall stay to dinner with me. Let 
there be no reply, no discussion. 

Clara. As you please. 

Luc. As you please. 

Mar. However, you say a mission ? And a special 
mission? 

Trin. And private. 

Mar. (gayly). That's curious; private! 

Clara. That 's why I said we were going to retire. 
{Pointing to Luc.) 

Luc. That 's why we were retiring. 

Trin. I say no. I shall go with Mariana for a 
walk round the garden, and we shall there say what 
we have to talk about. I want a poetic background : 
the trees, the flowers, the fountains will come to my 
aid. 

Mar. Let it be so, though I don't understand a 
word. And when we have terminated our conference 
. . . our private conference, we give you notice that 
we four shall take that little cup of tea in the winter 
house. Is it agreed ? 

Clara. Agreed. 

Mar. (to Trinidad, taking her arm and turning 



Mariana. 4 7 

slowly toward the garden). Then let us go there. But 
are we treating of an affair so solemn, so poetical, and 
so reserved as you say? 

Trin. You will see. 

Mar. Well, I can't guess. . . . (Aside.) Only too 
well. 

Trin. (mysteriously). It concerns my brother. 

Mar. Ah! . . .A perfect gentleman, and a very 
good-natured friend. 

Trin. Nothing more ? 

Mar. We shall terminate the conference in the 
garden, for otherwise ... as you already know . . . 
it will neither be solemn, poetical, nor secret. (Turn- 
ing round to Clara and Luciano.) Good-bye for 
the present. [Exeunt Mariana and Trinidad. 

Clara. Will Mariana accept? 

Luc. No. 

Clara. Why? The general holds a very high 
position; he is almost in the flower of age. He has 
great ability and a reputation for bravery. And even 
what they relate of him, that he gave his first wife her 
death-blow through jealousy, even that makes him 
interesting. (Lowering her voice.) 

Luc. I doubt it : if I were a woman I should never 
marry an Othello. 

Clara. Then you should n't doubt it. If Othello 
were resuscitated as a widower he would be married 
within six months. In short, Pablo, with all his 
apparent coldness, is madly in love with Mariana. 

Luc. And with Mariana's riches. 

Clara. With Mariana, with Mariana; let us not 
always take people from their worst side. And she is 
mad . . . really mad . . . 

Luc. After Daniel. 

Clara. And she shows it by torturing him ? 



48 Mariana. 

Luc. The one who tortures, loves. Ah! Clarita, 
torture me ! 

Clara, [laughing). When Castulo lets me have my 
turn. 

Luc. And when will he let you have your turn ? 

Clara. I don't know. He is very fond of his 
Luciano. He says that you have an instinct for 
Archaeology, and a patience . . . 

Luc. And on whose account have I so much 
patience? 

Clara. On mine. 

Luc. And by whom am I made to suffer? 

Clara. By him. 

Luc. And by whom shall I be driven mad ? 

Clara, (laughing). By him and me. 

Luc. But let us not speak of madmen, for here 
comes Daniel. 

Clara. True: and with his keeper. 

Servant {^receding Don Joaquin and Daniel, 
who enter). The senora is in the garden. 

Joaq. Well; we shall wait here. {Shaking hands 
with Clara.) How pleased I am to see you ! 

Clara. I say the same to you. (Turning to 
Daniel.) Montoya, my friend . . . 

Dan. Always your friend. Clarita. 

Luc. A happy meeting, Daniel ... Don Joaquin. 
. . . [Saluting each other.) 

Joaq. It appears that Mariana is walking among 
the flowers. 

Clara. Yes. senor. 

Luc. One flower more. 

Dan. Is she alone? 

Clara. No. 

Dan. With whom ? 

Clara. With Trinidad. 



Mariana. 49 

Luc. A private interview. 

Dan. Private? 

Clara. So they said. 

Joaq. Halloa, halloa ! 

Clara. What 's the matter with you, Daniel ! Are 
you impatient? (Daniel is incessantly looking to- 
ward the garden?) 

Dan. No, senora. Impatient? Why? 

Clara. Has your father completely recovered? 

Dan. Yes ? senora. Many thanks. It was an alarm 
. . . nothing more. 

Luc. Does he never come to Madrid ? 

Dan. Very seldom. He has grown attached to 
his country-seat, and he never goes out of it. It was 
the same with him at Seville. He spent two succes- 
sive years in it. We have there almost an archaeo- 
logical museum, and our Mexican antiquities are 
not surpassed by those of Don Castulo. My father, 
also, was very fond of collecting objects of remote 
date. 

Clara (to Daniel). You, on the other hand, 
never leave Madrid ; you like objects of recent date. 

Joaq. In our youth we like great capitals : it is the 
passion for busy life. In old age we grow attached 
to the country : the passion for repose. It is our 
mother earth that calls us. The foliage moved by 
the breeze, the stream curled by the foam, the sun 
piercing through the leaves and falling on the grass 
in circles of light, seem, as it were, the smiles and 
caresses of the general mother who says to her chil- 
dren : " Come to me, child with the white hair, for I 
have made ready thy cradle of earth." 

Clara. Don't say sad things, Don Joaquin. 

Luc. Between Don Castulo with his Archaeology, 
you with your eternal elegy, and Daniel with his 
4 



50 Mariana. 

melancholy . . . the truth is that one feels in an 
agony. 

Clara. Ave Maria! 

Joaq. But really I am not saying sad things. 

Clara. They must be sad, for look how Daniel is. 
He never takes his eyes away from the garden. 

Luc. It is his mother earth which calls him. And 
if it is not mother earth, it must be mother nature. 

Clara. Don't be so unpleasantly insinuating. 

Servant {entering). The mistress says that you 
may pass on when you please to the winter-house: 
tea is ready. [Exit. 

Clara. Shall we go there, Luciano ? 

Luc. With you I would go. ... I '11 not say to 
that delicious garden, but to the Mexican Hall of Don 
Castulo. 

Clara (to Don Joaquin and Daniel). Are you 
coming ? 

Joaq. Excuse me : I also have to speak privately 
*to Mariana, and I shall wait for her here. 

Clara. This is the day of private conferences. 
Shall I announce it to Mariana? 

Joaq. If you will be so good. . . . 

Clara. With my friends I am always so. {Goes 
toward the back with Luciano.) 

Luc. (as he is going out). And must we not confer 
in all secrecy ? 

Clara. It must be briefly, for they are awaiting 
us. 

Luc. A brief spell of passion. [Exeunt. 

Dan. (to Joaquin). Are you going to say some- 
thing to Mariana? You will not desist from your 
project? 

Joaq. No. My resolution is irrevocable. 

Dan. Then let it be so. Lend me the strength in 



Mariana. 5 1 

which I am myself wanting. (Falls on a chair. Joa- 
quin approaches him affectionately '.) 

Joaq. I love you as if you were my own son. You 
were the comrade, the friend, almost the brother of 
my poor Fernando. My poor Fernando ! . . . And 
on his death-bed he said to me : " Take care of 
Daniel. His father is so infirm that he is as though 
he did not exist. Now that he has no father, you 
must be one to him." And I am so. 

Dan. A father : a friend : an angel that always 
comes to save me. 

Joaq. An angel of seventy years ! And with 
countless white hairs ! But, after all, the angels in 
heaven, though without white hairs, are still older. 
Mariana is your bad angel. I shall be your good 
angel. 

Dan. No : there is no badness in Mariana. Make 
me out to be what you please, Mariana is not 
wicked. 

Joaq. I know what Mariana is : I have been 
acquainted with her for many years. Yes, at heart 
she is good, noble, high-spirited, pure; but with all 
her goodness she is dangerous. One of those women 
who unhinge a brain ; who make a heart bound ; who 
receive every morning an amorous kiss from the 
goddess of madness; who approach you bearing in 
one hand happiness, in the other despair, and no one 
knows — they themselves are ignorant of it — which 
hand they will give you. 

Dan. But she loves me ? 

Joaq. I don't know. I think so; but I don't know. 

Dan. Then if she loves me, let vertigo, madness, 
despair come upon me . . . what does it matter? 
But let her tell me so, let me know it and I shall 
never complain. 



5 2 Mariana. 

Joaq. How you do go on ! Poor Daniel ! 

Dan. See, Don Joaquin, this doubt it is that is 
killing me. At times I feel impulses to press the 
pretty neck of Mariana between my strong hands, to 
feel the final contractions of her lips, to drink her 
last breath, and to think — "Ah! she has not died 
without kissing me." No, don't say anything : I 
already know that these are ravings of madness. 

Joaq. No ; I am truly glad that you should speak 
to me in such fashion. For this day must decide all. 
You shall either be married prosaically to her, or you 
must keep away from her forever. 

Dan. I be separated from her ? Never. 

Joaq. You are a man, and will have to bear your- 
self as a man of character and of heart. Either be 
with her, as absolute lord and master, or at a great 
distance from her: (angrily) for it isn't pleasant to 
see you suffering so. But gently : I also have my 
temper, and I can afford to speak sternly to Mariana. 
For that woman, you must know, is under obligation 
to listen to me. Ho, ho there ! {Looking toward the 
garden as if to challenge Mariana.) You know the 
history of her family ? 

Dan. I have known her a year, and it seems as 
though I had known her all my life. As for her 
family, what have I to do with it? 

Joaq. Well, in her family history there have been 
very dark days : and in those days I was at the side 
of little Mariana . . . and also by the side of her 
mother . . . Come, I tell you that she must hear me, 
that she must respect me, and, if her temper were not 
such as it is, I might almost say that she will have to 
obey me. 

Dan. She ? She will not obey. 

Joaq. No ? I say she will be agitated with her 



Mariana. 5 3 

little alarms at this very moment. If Clara tells her 
that I am waiting for her, and that we must have a 
talk together, she will not be so very easy in her 
mind, eh ? What will you bet that she leaves the 
others and comes in search of me ? I tell you that 
inside that pretty little head there dances this idea 
with its co-responsive little trembling : " Why should 
Don Joaquin want to speak to me?" {Laughing i7i 
a?iticipation of the terror which he att?'ibutes to 
Mariana.) She is afraid of me, — ah ! — she is afraid 
of me. 

Dan. She is afraid of nobody : neither shall she be 
afraid of anybody. For am not I here to defend her ? 
(Passionately.) 

Joaq. See how he flies out ! You are a poor 
creature, and a fool into the bargain. You were not 
so once, but you are now. Do you know how the 
first fool in the world w r as manufactured ? Well, he 
was formed out of a lover — that's very simple. The 
lover placed himself before the object of his tender 
longings ; and, it is clear, he remained like a block- 
head, without saying a word but — u I love you so 
much. (= tan to). I love you so much, I love you so 
much." And by force of this repetition of M tanto, 
tanto, tanto," . . . the result was " tonto" 1 (=afool). 

Dan. Do you observe that she is n't coming ? 
(Looking towards the garden.) 

Joaq. (looking also: then, after a pause). Do you 
observe that she is coming ? . . . Did n't I say so ? 
Now you shall see, now you shall see how I '11 tame 

1 Senor Echegaray suffers from chronic attacks of the punning 
rabies. What is the quality of his puns may be judged from the 
above melancholy example. It is to be regretted that a man who 
shows an undeniable sense of humor through much of his work 
should lower himself to this most witless of all methods of arousing 
laughter. 



54 Mariana. 

the pretty little wild animal. And do you go at once 
to the garden, plant yourself before the first trunk of a 
tree you meet, fancy it 's Mariana, and until I give 
you notice to stop, keep on repeating " tanto "... I 
should say " tonto, tonto, tonto ! " . . . Eh, quick ! 

Dan. How beautiful ! . . . 

Joaq. Will you or will you not let me have a clear 
field? 

Dan. Yes: you are right: this must come to an 
end. [Exit to the left of the garden. 

Joaq. Now we shall see, little Mariana ! I am 
going to fight a pitched battle with you. Ah ! heart 
of gold, temper of iron, head of a bird ; you must 
now understand from Don Joaquin that you are not 
going to kill my Daniel. 

Enter Mariana. 

Mar. (showing extraordinary affection}. My dear 
Don Joaquin ! My father ! . . . Why did you not 
come to where I was ? {Looking around.) And 
Daniel? Was he tired of waiting for me? Why did 
you not come forward ? (Lets herself fall on a sofa or 
cushioned seat.) To-day I feel sad, depressed ... I 
don't know how . . . and I 'm glad to see at my side 
my good friends. . . . You and Daniel are the friends 
of my predilection. But you know that already. 

Joaq. Oh yes ; now come your caresses. You are 
now acting the part of the spoiled child — I know 
you. 

Mar. (sadly and somewhat caressingly). I should 
think you do know me ! — For many years. 

Joaq. I have not come to listen to your coaxings : 
I come to speak seriously to you. 

Mar. Everybody wants to speak seriously to-day. 
To-day when I needed gayety, rejoicing, liveliness, 



Mariana. 55 

pleasant conversation, playful friendship — to-day 
every one must wear the face of an ambassador or a 
schoolmaster. (With a kind of sad, wheedling fret- 
fulness.) 

Joaq. Let us take it that I wear the face of a 
schoolmaster. Listen to me. 

Mar. Speak : I shall listen humbly. 

Joaq. That's what I want from you: humility. Do 
you ever make an examination of conscience? 

Mar. ( with merry surprise). I ? 

Joaq. Answer me. 

Mar. Yes, senor ; from time to time. 

Joaq. And what does your conscience tell you — 
that you are good, or that you are bad? 

Mar. You make me laugh . . . and I have no 
wish to do so. 

Joaq. Answer me! 

Mar. My conscience speaks to me in so confused 
a manner that I find it hard to understand it. More- 
over, I interrogate it when I am about to go to sleep ; 
and I being half-asleep, and it not being very wide- 
awake, I neither know what I am asking it, nor does 
it know well what to answer me. And thus we stand. 

Joaq. Good: then I shall question it. 

Mar. Poor little conscience ! . . . (Coaxingly.) 
Let it go to sleep. 

Joaq. It must not be. And let us talk seriously, 
Mariana, I know that you are not bad at heart. But 
towards Daniel you behave like a woman without 
heart and without conscience. 

Mar. Don Joaquin! ... I ? ... In what way? 

Joaq. You know. Either you love him, or you 
don't love him. If the former, you should not torture 
him. If the latter, you should take away all hope 
from him. 



5 6 Mariana. 

Mar. But what do you say? That I torture him? 

Joaq. There, now — at this very moment you are 
not only wicked, you are hypocritical. You know 
that you martyr him without compassion : and that 
you delight in his martyrdom. 

Mar. {energetically). It is true. 

Joaq. Thank God you confess it. And why do 
you do so ? 

Mar. How can I tell? No doubt because I am 
wicked. But the fault is n't all mine. Others have 
made me what I am. I was good when I was a 
child. I felt within me immense treasures of tender- 
ness. Always compassionate, always affectionate. 
I was like a little honeycomb full of the sweetest 
honey : others robbed the comb of its honey and 
refilled the cells with bitterness. Is it my fault if, 
when my heart is wrung, it distils gall ? (Pressing 
her bosom.) I did not put it here ; let the complaint 
be directed against the one who placed it within me. 
'Joaq. Poor Mariana; in that you are right. 

Mar. When I was very little, what did I see in my 
home? A struggle, implacable, secret, cruel, between 
my father and my mother. My father. ... I don't 
know ; but, from the words w r hich I heard falling from 
the servants, this idea took root within me — " that my 
father was bad." At first I was afraid of him : then 
I left off loving him : later he inspired me with repul- 
sion; in the end I looked upon him with indifference. 
My father regarded indifferently by me, and I being 
only eight years of age ! What can be expected from 
a well-spring which hardly begins to flow when it 
is dried up ? 

Joaq. In all this you are right. But, on the other 
hand, your mother. . . . 

Mar. Of my mother I was very fond : I loved her 



Mariana. 5 7 

always, and if I could requite on any one the wrong 
that was done to her . . . Oh ! the retribution should 
not be unaccomplished for want of wishing. And 
nevertheless . . . There did come a day . . . when I 
became afraid of my mother also . . . You know it. 
(Remains pensive.) 

Joaq. Go on, Mariana. This conference is decisive 
for you. I know the events of your life : I don't know 
the history of your heart. 

Mar. And you would like to know among what 
briers and brambles it was left to be torn to pieces ? 
Isn't that so? 

Joaq. Precisely. (A group is visible in the garden. 
— Trinidad, Clara, and Luciano — then they dis- 
appear) 

Mar. Well, let us go on. — But (approaching the 
back of the stage), will anybody hear us? 

Joaq. They were coming this way, but they saw us 
wrapped up in our conversation and they have become 
wrapped up in the thicket. (They return to the first 
wing, Marias A pensive, Don Joaquin contemplating 
her.) Won't you continue? Come . . . tell me of 
your impressions : the incidents I already know. 

Mar. And did you know Don Felix Alvarado ? 
With what delight (terrible irony) I pronounce that 
name and bite that name. (Biting her lips.) 

Joaq. And why bite, eh ? ... I did not know him, 
you little savage. 

Mar. Well, he was gallant, sympathetic, affection- 
ate, somewhat melancholy. I don't know from where 
he came: I think from America. He seemed rich: 
I don't know if he was so : he lent much money to 
my father. How respectful towards my mother! how 
affectionate towards me ! 

Joaq. I have heard of all that: be brief. 



58 Mariana. 

Mar. You desired that we should have an examina- 
tion of conscience. It is good that you should know 
how I have suffered, in order that you may under- 
stand what a delight I take at times in making other 

people suffer. 

Joaq. But how is poor Daniel to blame ? 

Mar. It's true. Poor Daniel. {Pensively) 

Joaq. Get done. 

Mar. Listen. I was eight years old ... it must 
have been two or three o'clock in the morning. . . . 
I was sleeping in my crib, and I dreamed that I was 
giving a great many kisses to my doll, because it had 
called me " mamma," The doll soon began to kiss 
me in return, but so fiercely that it caused me pain: 
and the doll became very large : and it was my 
mother and she was holding me in her arms: and 
I ... I was not sleeping now: it was no dream: I 
was awake. Behind my mother was a man standing : 
it was Alvarado. who was saying : " Come ! " and my 
mother said : " Xo, not without her! " And he said: 
••What the devil . . . then, with her!"' Afterwards 
there seemed another dream: a nightmare: some- 
thing that whirls round and oppresses. My mother, 
dressing me as one may dress a lunatic or a doll. 
with shaking, with pulling, almost with blows. And 
Alvarado, in a stifled voice, pressing her: "Quick, 
quick, make haste!" I have never undergone a 
sensation like it. It was trivial, it was grotesque — 
but it was horrible. She could not succeed in getting 
the little socks on me; she could not manage to 
button my boots: my drawers were reversed: the 
petticoats left with the opening at the side ; my dress 
half loose, although I was saying : " It requires to be 
fastened, it requires to be fastened." But Alvarado 
was still repeating : " Quick, quick, make haste, 



Mariana. 



59 



make haste ! " Then a cloak of my mother's fastened 
round my body : then a hat-ribbon that was strangling 
me tied round my head : then my mother snatched 
me up in her arms : then we entered a carriage that 
went very fast, and then I heard a kiss and I thought : 
" But, my God, for whom was it, for whom was it ? — 
nobody has kissed me." Ah! my own mother, my 
own mother ! . . . (Bursts into tears.) 

Joaq. Enough now. 

Mar. No : you wished for an examination of con- 
science ? Then we shall have an examination of 
conscience. A general confession ? A general con- 
fession, then, you shall hear. You wanted to know 
what others have made of me ? Well, now you know 
it. You wished to know why I believe in nobody . . . 
except in you . . . and now you know that, too. 
Let me go on to the end. We went to London. 
What a life, my God, what a life ! My mother cried 
bitterly in Madrid: but she cried more in London. I 
always looked on with eyes wide open : I understood 
something, and I never cried. My mother was very 
good. I say that she was very good ! That man was 
infamous and coarse. How many times before me 
has he made her put on gay dresses, laces, and jewels ; 
but. brutally, amid blows and curses, by force — as my 
mother had dressed me that night ! And again when 
Alvarado went on enveloping my mother in her 
shroud, in the shroud of orgie, there sounded a kiss ; 
but that kiss was for me ; it was one which my mother 
gave me amid sobs and tears when that man tore her 
away to himself, and left me alone with the gloomy 
fretfulness of a silkworm stifled in sepulchral rotten- 
ness. 

Joaq. No more, no more ! 

Mar. At last, weariness, desertion, misery, hunger, 



60 Mariana. 

death . . . my mother in her agony ... I in the 
street ... I went to you . . . you were very kind 
and good . . . but indeed you have not suffered as 
Mariana has suffered. {Leans her head upon the 
breast of Don Joaquin and e?nbraces him while 
weeping?) 

Joaq. Yes, poor Mariana; I buried your mother; 
I took you to myself : I brought you to Spain : I 
gave you up to your father . . . and you were 
happy. 

Mar. Happy ! . . . Courteous indifference : insipid 
luxury : the respect of servants for their monthly 
wages: my father always far away: the governess 
always close at hand : my mother nevermore any- 
where ! I like to suffer, but I like to have enjoy- 
ment. Let sorrow come in torrents, if it bring a drop 
— though it be no more than one drop — of love. Ah ! 
how I missed those kisses in London, with all their 
tears and all their impurities. 

}oaq. God help me, child. I wish I had been able 
to tear all these records from your memory. 

Mar. Then my wedding ! {Laughing ironically.) 
We have not spoken of my wedding. " This is your 
husband," says my father to me, and gives me a 
portrait. I look at it: I think it agreeable. "Good, 
I '11 be married ..." " He is very rich ..." 
" Better still," I say. We get married by power of 
attorney : I am taken to Cuba : I land : I am met 
by some ladies dressed in black; there 's no wedding, 
there is mourning {indifferently). So much for that ! 
My loving husband had died from the results of a 
duel about a ballet dancer. One more illusion ! And 
with the same passion that I had said, " Good, I '11 be 
married," I said, " Good, I am a widow." What 
would you have me to be, Don Joaquin ? What 



Mariana. 6 1 

would you have me to care for ? In what or in whom 
would you have me to believe? In men? Why? 
Because they are like my father, like Alvarado, like 
my husband ! No ; let them suffer ; let them weep ; 
let them die ! 

Joaq. Daniel is not so ; he does not deserve what 's 
merited by others. 

Mar. He seems not to be so now ; but who knows 
what he will be? Alvarado, too, was tender-natured, 
and he did not display himself truly until he had 
killed my mother. Daniel has not yet shed tears ; 
at least I have not seen him weep. I have seen 
Alvarado shed tears ... in the beginning. My 
husband died for the sake of another little wife than 
me. Daniel has not yet died for his Mariana. Let 
him do that . . . {With profound irony and cruel 
laughter?) and then we shall see. 

Joaq. No, you shall do nothing of that sort with 
Daniel, you little wild beast ! I '11 pare your claws and 
wrench your teeth out ! Do you wish to make Daniel 
Montoya pay for the faults of Felix Alvarado? Well, 
he shall not pay for them. I now see what you are, 
and I am sorry for it, I am sorry for it. I did wrong 
to pick you out of the refuse of London. 

Mar. Don Joaquin ! 

Joaq. Because you have stumbled against evil, 
everything is bad? Walk along a marshy soil and 
you will sink into the mire. But spring aside, go 
further on, and you will come upon valleys with 
flowers, woods with shade, mountains with snow, 
horizons with light. 

Mar. Who could do that? 

Joaq. If you remain in the swampy ground, the 
fault is your own. March on. Come, now, you most 
obstinate creature : are there no good people in the 



62 Mariana. 

world ? Was not your mother good ... in spite of 
all? 

Mar. {with anguish, clinging to Dox Joaquin). 
Yes. 

Joaq. Were not you good when you were little ? 

Mar. I was. 

Joaq. What the devil — ! Am not I good? 

Mar. My God ! I should think so. 

Joaq. Then why should not Daniel be so? 

Mar. Let him prove it. 

Joaq. Well, that will be easy. 

Mar. How? 

Joaq. By your marrying him. 

Mar. {archly). Then he wants to marry me? 

Joaq. Yes; he has that much bad taste. For your 
sake he has rejected ... it *s a fact, word of honor 
. . . a young girl . . . younger than you (With evident 
exaggeration^) for she is only eighteen years old, and 
prettier than you, and richer than you, and better 
tempered than you. You now see the madness that 
this madman has been guilty of for your sake. 

Mar. (coldly). Then he has done wrong. Although, 
look you, if he likes me better than that person — in 
spite of her being so young, so lovely, so rich, and so 
good — he has done well. 

Joaq. You would have been sorry if he had married 
her ? Come, the truth ; say what you think, and 
don't tell me a lie. 

Mar. {after a pause). Yes. 

Joaq. Then you love him ? 

Mar. It is not impossible; but I don't know. 

Joaq. Then you "11 have to know : and if you don't 
love him. you must bid him good-bye forever. 

Mar. {with irony in which there is something of 
conviction). Why? If he is happy at my side, if he 



Mariana. 63 

is happy in his suffering, and I am happy in making 
him suffer, why should we be separated ? 

Joaq. {angrily). Because a man such as he is was 
not born to be a plaything for anybody — not even 
for you. 

Mar. {rather coquettishly). Am I so good for 
nothing ? 

Joaq. He is a great deal better than you. There 
{very ill at ease), coquetries are of no avail with me. 

Mar. {caressingly). What a bad temper you are 
in with your Mariana to-day. 

Joaq. Pah ! Seriously and for the last time : you 
shall either be his wife, or I '11 take him off to Madrid 
to find the girl, eighteen years old, and with eighteen 
million pesetas of income. 

Mar. I shall neither be his wife, nor will you take 
him away. 

Joaq. No? 

Mar. No. I am no longer a child, {Jestingly and 
laughing defiantly.) 

Joaq. {going to the door of the garden). We shall 
see. . . . Daniel ! . . . Daniel ! 

Mar. {with a certain e7notion). Are you calling 
him ? 

Joaq. As you now see. Daniel ! . . . 

Mar. But for God 's sake, don 't call him yet ! . . . 
We have not finished our conference. . . . We must 
find a modus vivendi. . . . {Laughing^) Isn't that 
what you call it ? 

Joaq. Daniel ! . . . Come ... it's you I 'm calling. 

Mar. {with ill-concealed emotion). How you do go 
on to-day ! 

Enter Daniel. 

Dan. Mariana! . . . (restraining himself). 
Senora ! . . . 



64 Mariana. 

Mar. Good-day to you, Daniel. 

Joaq. {to Daniel). I have done for you what a 
father would not have done for his son : I '11 say more, 
I have done for both of you all that I could ; and I 
can do no more. {To Daniel.) If you will follow 
my advice you '11 take a final farewell of Mariana. 
( To Mariana. ) If you will obey my command — and 
I have some sort of aright to command you — un- 
deceive him and never see him again. I have spoken 
as a man of heart, and a man of honor also, speaks 
to two persons whom he really loves, but who are not 
in their senses. Think of what I have said, or don't 
think of it : I have finished : make up your minds : I 
shall be curious to see how two lunatics makeup their 
minds. Untie the knot if you can : if you can't, twist 
it round your necks very tight. Good-bye for the 
present : I am going to take tea . . . no, an ice. 

Mar. But, Don Joaquin ! 

Joaq. Two ices ! 

Dan. Don Joaquin! 

Joaq. A dozen of ices ! . . . Good-bye. . . . They 
love each other ; they will come to an understanding. 

[Exit. 

Mar. {seating herself with an air of weariness}. 
He is vexed because, according to him, I torment 
you ; I make you unhappy ; I ought not to see you 
any more (sadly). 

Dan. No, Mariana ; torment me without mercy, 
but don't forbid me to see you. 

Mar. {as before, sad and caressing). Don Joaquin 
says that I am very cruel. 

Dan. What does it matter? If I am the one who 
suffers, and if I like to go on suffering, what right 
have other people to thrust themselves in the way ? 

Mar. Are you anxious that we should be good 



Mariana. 65 

friends ? I shall be very affectionate towards you, 
and I '11 never be cruel ... if, indeed, I am so at 
present, of which I am not very well convinced. 

Dan. No. Friends? No. I prefer that we should 
be as we are : I loving you and telling you so ; you 
hating ,me, making me endure martyrdom, and from 
time to time allowing me to have a glimmer of hope, 
though I know it to be false. Let us go on as we are, 
go on as we are : I can still bear more misery, and if 
you take a delight in my suffering, you may torture 
me still further. 

Mar. {impatiently). But, my God ! how unjust you 
all are towards me. Why, then, I am a monster, 
a Sphinx, I suppose. 

Dan. But I don't complain. For what are all the 
fibres of my heart if not that you may pluck from 
them sweet or mournful notes? It is as you please. 
What happiness ! You don't feel a delight in torment- 
ing any one else than me ! Therefore I must be in 
your eyes that which others are not. And what I 
long for is that you should not treat me as you do 
others. You favor Don Pablo with much respect, 
great consideration, courteous phrases. . . . And as 
forme? It is: "Come here, Daniel: throw yourself 
at my feet like a dog : suffer, weep, writhe, go mad, 
die!" Two beings may become intertwined, com- 
mingled with one another by love or by hatred. Can 
it not be love? Good; then let it be hatred. Let me 
feel my Mariana near me, tearing my heart out with 
her sweet little hands, setting my soul in flames with 
her eyes, drinking in with rapture the sight of my 
agony ! But near me, near me, not far away. 
Separate us ? Never, Mariana ! 

Mar. But, God save me ! I am not the woman you 
suppose. I cannot love . . . because I cannot love. 
5 



66 Mariana. 

I have been very unhappy, and the fountain of all 
tenderness, of all confidence, has been dried up within 
me. I feel no love : I feel no tenderness ; and I don't 
want to feel them. To deliver up the soul is to lose 
it; it is flinging it to the contempt or the indifference 
of others. Because if I said to you, ht Well, then, I 
love you, I accept you, I shall be your wife," I should 
scarcely have finished saying so when you would care 
for me less, and then less, and in the end not at all. 
" She is mine ! Good-bye to passion, to delirium, to 
self-deception." When I seem to laugh at you, I am 
not laughing at you : it is that I laugh while thinking : 
" Poor Daniel! why, he does not imagine that he loves 
me much. What a joke if I told him so! " 

Dan. {striking his breast). What passes within 
here, you don't know. 

Mar. Yes, Daniel : we are all created after the 
same fashion. If I ever came to feel for you a true 
passion — what madness, what shame, what despair ! 
{She visibly struggles with the affection which she is 
feeling for Daniel.) 

Dan. Despair perhaps ; but there 's the happiness. 
Do you not understand ? have you never tasted with 
relish the bliss of suffering ? Then I am happier 
than you. Indifference, disrelish, frivolity, always all 
the same, a perennial half-tint, a monotonous sound, a 
somnolent limbo . . . that, that is despair and death. 
Is it so you live, Mariana ? Then you are more un- 
fortunate than I. 

Mar. It 's the truth : that is indeed the truth. 

Dan. Try, for once in your life, what it is to love 
and to suffer. Love me, Mariana. I ask it now for 
your sake ; not for myself, for you. And if you have 
a doubt of me, all the better: you will love me more. 
And the greater your doubts and anxieties, the 



Mariana. 6 7 

greater will be your delights. And if you think that 
you must lose me forever — ah ! then your love will 
be infinite. 

Mar. That would be a curious probation, Daniel. 

Dan. If we love from the inmost soul, the insub- 
stantial world that surrounds us disappears, and our 
love creates a new world. I see you in all parts, and 
I feel love for you in all its forms. Sometimes the 
tenderness of a father : who contemplates his 
Mariana with pride and with respect : caresses her 
as a little child: presses her hand in all gentleness : 
puts back in its place a disordered curl : kisses her 
on the forehead. 

Mar. Poor Daniel ! . . . And poor me ! I never 
had a father who loved me in that fashion. 

Dan. At other times I feel towards you a fraternal 
affection : the calm and joyous fondness of a friend 
and a companion. And I put my arm around your 
waist, and you throw your arm about my neck, and 
we run among God's own fields, playing as if we were 
two boys. And if you saw what lively fellows we 
are ! 

Mar. How good you are ! And what an evil fate 
is mine ! . . . I never had a brother with whom I 
could play in such a manner as you speak of. 

Dan. Sometimes . . . this indeed is rare ! . . . I 
don't know how, but I am your husband, and we 
have a hearth and a family and a homely corner for 
ourselves. And time flies upon the wings of angels, 
even until we are old ! You see what are the whims 
of the imagination ! 

Mar. {laughing). They are indeed whims. — And 
what do we do ? 

Dan. Well, I die of pure old age : and you, who 
are also very old, embrace me amidst your tears : 



68 Mariana. 

and I, as one in dreams, hear you saying: "For my 
Daniel in life : for my Daniel in death." Your tears 
roll down the furrows formed by my wrinkles, as 
mourning through a valley of tears : and your white 
curls fall upon my shrivelled lips : and my soul 
escapes from death — from death with its visage so 
foul, and its scythe, which was bearing it away — to 
return to the lips and to kiss for the last time those 
white curls, as it kissed the black curls of its 
Mariana. 

Mar. (inuch moved, and drying her eyes). What an 
imagination ! . . . {With coquetry^ But these curls, 
you see, are still black. 

Dan. But they will be white ; and who will kiss 
them if I be not the man? 

Mar. And why must you not be ? 

Dan. Because you '11 not have it so. 

Mar. Bah ! I have said nothing. — And have you 
done with your imaginations ? 

* Dan. No. Many times I am neither father, nor 
brother, nor friend, nor venerable spouse; I am your 
impassioned Daniel. And I am very close to you, 
and you do not push me away. {Approaching her.) 

Mar. Good ; then I shall not push you away. . . . 
But it 's through curiosity — nothing more. 

Dan. And I grasp your hand {seizes it) ; not with 
the gentle pressure of the father or the brother ; but 
to squeeze it desperately ; to martyrize it. 

Mar. No {laughing, but evidently much moved) : 
why, it does not hurt me even yet. 

Dan. It is because you have no feeling. 

Mar. In real truth, no. But here ends the dream 
. . . for it has all been a dream . . . and we must 
awake. {Draws away her hand.) 

Dan. I was going to tell you what was said to me 



Mariana. 69 

in those dreams, or in those imaginations, by Mariana 
. . . the Mariana of my delusions. 

Mar. I shall suppose it, without your repeating it. 

Dan. And you won't repeat it? 

Mar. Repeat all that she says ! No ... it would 
compromise me. 

Dan. Well, only one thing. 

Mar. Which? If it is not much — granted. 

Dan. Don't say that you love : say that you will 
try me, to see if you can love me. {A pause.) 

Mar. {resolutely). I will try you. 

Dan. Say, moreover, that if you don't succeed in 
loving me, you will love no one else. 

Mar. You, or nobody. 

Dan. Not Don Pablo ! 

Mar. Don Pablo! What a child you are ! {She 
rises laughing. Daniel rises also, and Don 
Joaquin enters without being heard by them?) 

Dan. The fact is, if you love another man ... I 
swear it by my salvation ... if you love another . . . 

Mar. Yes, I know already. {In tragi-comic 
tones?) You '11 kill me : and you '11 kill him. 

Dan. {seizing her hand). As there is a God that 
hears us ! 

Mar. You are now really hurting me. 

Dan. But is the compact made ? 

Mar. Made and sealed. And if you squeeze me 
a little harder it will be sealed with blood. 

Joaq. {advancing). Have you made a compact? 

Mar. And we have a witness ; for you appear like 
an apparition. 

Joaq. I shall be one. 
Enter, laughing, Clara, Trinidad and Luciano. 

Clara. And should any more witnesses be want- 
ing, here are we. 



70 Mariana. 

Luc. All of us. 

Trin. All. But what is it about ? 

Joaq. A secret compact. 

Dan. (/& Mariana). You renew it? 

Mar. (giving him her hand). In presence of all I 
ratify it. 

Dan. Our lives are bound up in it. 

Mar. Be it so. {They remain with clasped hands?) 

Joaq. What an opportunity, if I bore a sacerdotal 
character! {Acting as if he showered benedictions 
07i them?) 

Mar. {laughing). With a benediction nothing is 
lost, is it not true, dear ? (To Trinidad.) 

Dax. With a benediction everything is gained. 
(They remain with hands clasped: Don Joaquin 
blessing them j the others laughing around them?) 



END OF ACT II. 



ACT III. 

The scene represents a hall in the house of Don 
Castulo. This hall is approached by two or 
three saloons, whether in front of it, whether in 
converging lines, but in such fashion that they 
are paj'tly visible. In them all are displayed 
artistic and archaeological objects, bronzes, earth- 
enware, carpets, pictures, statues, d^c. In the 
stage decoration, whatever is exposed seems so 
from choice j nothing has the character of being 
brought forward through necessity of filling up 
It will be proper to create a special atmosphere, 
as it were, for the entire act, and there need be no 
limitation of form or adornment to bring about 
this result. It must be remembered that this is 
the house of Don Castulo. 

Time — Day. 

E)iter Clara and Don Pablo. 

Clara. Then you are tired of seeing antiquities ? 

Pablo. I am for the modern. My taste for what 's 
ancient is concentrated on the army. And in the 
matter of age, I shall have enough with what awaits 
me. I like the youthful, the new, what brings with it 
the lights of morning and the joys of dawn. 



72 Mariana. 

Clara. That 's why you are so fond of Mariana. 

Pablo. That's why; and because she is Mariana. 

Clara. I am indiscreet in speaking to you of our 
good and most beautiful friend. 

Pablo. You are never indiscreet — least of all when 
speaking of her. 

Clara. Very good, very beautiful — is she not? 
but with very little judgment. 

Pablo. Nobody has judgment; do you not remark 
that in all creation there is only one day of judgment 
— the Judgment Day. 

Clara {laughing) . And that 's why they tell us it 's 
the final judgment — the first and the Last. 

Pablo. Well, now you see. Do I, for example, 
rejoice in the possession of judgment? And that 
though I am already far enough advanced in years 
to be judicious ; but not so far advanced as to afford 
me the right not to be so. At fifteen years of age one 
has no judgment : at forty-eight it should be a law of 
necessity : at sixty-eight it may be dispensed with — 
if there is any left to make use of. 

Clara. So you are not judicious ? 

Pablo. No, sefiora. 

Clara. Why? 

Pablo. Trinidad has already told you, and it is no 
mystery. I sought the hand of Mariana, in spite of 
your counsels and warnings ; with courteous words 
she declined the honor which, as she said, I was 
bestowing upon her. 

Clara. And what follows ? 

Pablo. That I '11 not desist. At this very moment 
my sister should be speaking to Don Joaquin upon 
the subject. I am driven back, and I return to the 
assault. Every one says that Mariana will be 
married to Daniel; and I don't believe it. My 



Mariana. 73 

mother was a Navarrese, my father was from Aragon, 
and I am a prodigy of stubbornness. 

Clara. All this proves you to be a man in love. 

Pablo. It is the way I act, at any rate. 

Clara. So that you don't forswear hopes of 
Mariana? 

Pablo. No, sefiora. 

Clara. And if you should be conquered? 

Pablo. And if I should be the conqueror? 

Clara, {laughing). Then you will know what has 
to be done. But let us conceive the worse case — if 
you should be conquered. 

Pablo. The man who is the vanquished to-day is 
the victor to-morrow. I am forty-eight years old : I 
can wait for fifteen more ; in ten years Troy was taken. 

Clara {laughing). You are Homeric. 

Pablo. Not altogether so. A woman is not a 
fortified city. 

Clara. One woman, Helen, fled to that fortified city. 

Pablo. And in the end Menelaus recovered her, 
and returned home with her. 

Clara. And so little as that would content you? 

Pablo. No : our classical traditions would not 
permit me to be so stupidly good-natured as were 
those heroes. To resistance I oppose determination ; 
to beauty — submission; for treason, I reserve the 
salutary lessons due from one who is the physician 
of his own honor 1 {With a forced laugh.) 

Clara. Now you are tragic. 

Pablo. Now, and always, I am a man of honor, in 
love with one woman and ambitious to give her his 
name. 

Clara. Whatever may fall out ? 

1 The reference is to Calderon's drama, "El Medico de su 
honra." The italics are Sefior Echegaray's. 



74 Mariana. 

Pablo. Whatever may fall out. 

Clara. No fear of rivals ? 

Pablo. No fear of any one. 

Clara. Resolved to conquer? 

Pablo. Resolved to struggle. 

Clara. That 's how I like men to be. 

Pablo. As Mariana is, so do I like women to be. 
And as you are . . . (with much courtesy) so I like 
wives to be. 

Clara. Here come Trinidad and Don Joaquin, 
and from the faces that they wear, I don't think the 
conference has brought forth satisfactory results. 

Pablo. It was not likely to bring them forth. But 
no matter. 

Enter Trinidad and Don Joaquin. 

Clara, (to Joaquin). What do you think of my 
husband's collections ? 

Joaq. They ought to possess great merit ; but I 
am not a person to give an authoritative opinion. 

Clara. Don Joaquin is like Don Pablo; he does 
not like what 's old. 

Joaq. Weaknesses of old age — is n't that so, Don 
Pablo ? 

Pablo. I have no weaknesses yet. 

Joaq. I have many. 

Clara and Don Joaquin for?n one group : 
Trinidad and Don Pablo form another apart. 

Pablo. What does he say ? 

Trin. That he is neither the father nor the 
guardian of Mariana. 

Pablo. In other words — that he declares war 
against us ? 

Trin. That 's what I told him. 



Mariana. 75 

Pablo. And what did he answer ? 

Trin. That war ought to be very agreeable to such 
a valiant soldier as you. 

Pablo. So it is. That 's well. We shall see. 

Clara. Here comes Mariana : I 'm sure that she 
at least has been delighted with the knick-knacks of 
my husband. 

Enter, by a different door from the others, Mariana, 
Don Castulo, and Luciano. 

Mar. Beyond all price ! . . . Admirable ! . . . 
My God, what a collection ! . . . Don Castulo, your 
house is an enchanted palace. 

Cast. You have great intellect. There are no 
more than two persons here who have what we might 
call the " archaeological spirit " : Mariana and 
Luciano. 

Joaq. Luciano too ? 

Cast. Luciano is already a master. 

Clara. A master! I thought he had not gone 
further than the advanced pupil. 

Cast. A master. He becomes ecstatic when listen- 
ing to me : he does not dare to breathe. 

Luc. No, sir, I do not. 

Pablo. So all these antiquities please you very 
much ? 

Mar. Very much, Don Pablo. With what delight 
I could live in this house ! But alone, completely 
alone. How I should walk at nightfall through these 
rooms ! And these wonderful objects involved in 
the approaching and extending gloom ! And the 
last gleams of twilight extracting, from here and 
there, lost reflections, fugitive scintillations, sudden 
splendors . . . now from a steel helmet, now from 
a poniard, a remnant of brocade, a garment of purple, 



76 Mariana. 

a lamp of bronze, or an Arabic plate. What thoughts 
would be mine! What subjects I should discuss! 
What histories, what dramas ! And without knowing 
anything of it all: mingling all: confusing all. A 
ghost-like morion from the gallery, a glory that comes 
down from the last light of heaven, one fragment or 
another of earthenware, of iron, of cloth, the refuse 
of the destructive centuries of old. With that I should 
be content. 

Luc. Well, I should not. 

Mar. Come, Don Castulo, I envy you all this : if 
I could, I should rob you of your treasure. 

Cast, (in a tone of triumph and turning to the 
others). What do you think of that ? 

Lua We all envy you your treasure. 

Cast, (as before). What do you think of that ? 

Pablo. I am not envious. 

Mar. And the arms? Those who stamped their 
frenzied imaginings on embossments and indentations 
— what did they do ? 

Luc. The Infantes of Aragon — what did they do ? 

Mar. Come, it is all really admirable. There is a 
brick which comes, Don Castulo says, from Ecbatana, 
and which shows a slight depression, as if the end of 
a finger had sunk into the soft clay. And do you 
know what it was ? Well, I at once made up a history : 
a poor slave was moulding it, and the overseer, or 
whatever he was called in those times, observing him 
walk lazily, struck him across the naked shoulders 
with the thong. I seem to be looking at it (emphati- 
cally), a lash of elephant hide with spikes of copper; 
is it not true, Don Castulo? (Castulo smiles) and 
the slave cowered with pain and buried his finger in 
the clay. An eternal impress of human suffering on a 
morsel of pottery; a petrified sorrow, which at the 



Mariana. 7 7 

close of thousands of years tells us: "There have 
always been victims who writhe, executioners who 
scourge, and clay to preserve through centuries of 
centuries every cruelty." 

Cast. Very good, very good. 

Trin. What a head ! 

Clara. What imagination ! 

Pablo. She is very clever. (To Don Joaquin.) 

Joaq. Too clever. 

Luc. {aside to Clara). And in what clay will your 
cruelties be petrified ? 

Clara. Ask that of Castulo. 

Mar. What irritates me is the impassiveness with 
which all those curiosities see us come and go. I 
should like them to become animated, to take part in 
our life : I should like the tears of yesterday to mingle 
with those of to-day, the passions of those people and 
our own passions to rush together in conflict. 

Clara. How fearful ! 

Pablo. But you never get into a passion. 

Joaq. You think not? 

Trin. Mariana never flies into a passion : — no, 
senor. 

Mar. Well, I should fly into a passion. Let one 
of those objects take part in my existence, let it cause 
me one grief, and you should see how all those frag- 
ments of crockery would come rattling on to the floor. 

Cast. Not quite so, Mariana. 

Luc. Ah, if Mariana would do that ! 

Joaq. Luciano is now growing indignant. 

Cast. But none of you have seen the most curious 
thing of all. 

Mar. The Mexican Saloon ? 

Cast. That of course; but there is something else: 
a surprise which I reserve for Luciano. 



78 Mariana. 

Luc. Ah, my God ! 

Trin. What is it ? 

Joaq. What do you refer to ? 

Pablo. Have you not heard that it is for Luciano ? 

Cast. For the present let us visit the Mexican 
Hall. 

Trin. Let us go there. 

Mar. Daniel has not come. 

Cast. We shall wait a while. 

Mar. Yes; let us wait till Daniel comes. Ah ! he 
is very well versed in these matters. And you, Don 
Pablo? 

Pablo. I am not, sefiora. 

Mar. Well, he certainly is. According to what he 
has told me, so was his father — Senor de Montoya — 
who has inestimable collections. Do you know of 
them, Don Castulo ? Do you know Senor de 
Montoya ? 

Cast. I have not the honor of his acquaintance. 
He* always lives retired in his country seat. 

Mar. Yes ; he is a great invalid. 

Cast. I have heard that, away in Seville, he has 
many curiosities. But though he be an American 
and I belong to the Peninsula, I wager that my 
Mexican saloon is superior to his, if he really has one. 
I ? I have a storehouse of wonders. I have, above 
all, one object . . . beneath a little lighthouse — which 
I would not part with for thirty thousand dollars. 
You (to Mariana) who have so much imagination, 
what histories you will invent when you see it ! 

Mar. {with much interest). What is it ? 

Trin. Tell us, Don Castulo. 

Joaq. Prepare us. 

Pablo. Indeed these things require preparation. 
Strong emotions cannot come all in a moment. 



Mariana. 79 

Luc. Well, they are coming. 

Mar. Let us know ... let us know, Don Castulo. 
Take note that I am dying of curiosity. 

Cast. The matter in question is what I call the 
Mexican pendant, which you will see described in all 
treatises on Archaeology. It is a ring of gold from 
which there hang, by means of three little chains of 
the same metal, three small winged figures of elongated 
form and of perfect design, also of gold, and with the 
right hand upon the mouth. Eh! {He says all this 
with emphasis, and rejoicing in the effect which he is 
producing. The ladies are seated '; the gentlemen as 
may be most convejiient to lend movement to the 
tableau ) 

Trin. Come, then, — like a lady's ear-ring. 

Cast. Something like it, but not altogether so. 
Two of these pendants were found, as all the treatises 
declare, in a sepulchre which was discovered, thanks 
to certain exploratory diggings, in Tehuantepec. Two 
mummies were unearthed, undoubtedly of the race 
of Zapoteca, and each one had, fastened to the lower 
lip by its corresponding hook, one of these pendants. 
For each mummy, and for each lip of each mummy, 
there was its respective pendant. As one might say, 
to each its pendant. Eh ? 

Mar. What a curious thing ! And what was it for ? 

Cast. It was an ornament which they wore in life. 
There are instances. 

Joaq. Then it could not have been an ornament 
for orators or women — though strictly speaking it 
should have been. {All laugh.) 

Cast. Was it a sepulchral and symbolical object? 
It is not impossible. I say that they symbolize the 
eternal silence of those mummified lips. 

Trin. Ugh ! what a horror ! 



8o Mariana. 

Mar. Continue, Don Castulo. 

Cast. Were they tokens of love from those two 
beings who throughout an eternity were sending each 
other frozen kisses by the little winged figures, 
messengers, among the shadows of death, of the 
caresses of life ? Away, now, and verify it. 

Mar. Yes; what doubt can there be? They are 
tokens of love ... of eternal love. 

Pablo. What an interest you take in winged 
figures, Mariana ! 

Trin. Let 's go and see them. 

Mar. I shall not look at the Mexican pendant till 
Daniel comes. And how did you come into posses- 
sion of that marvel? for you have said that it is a 
very rare object. 

Cast, (in a tone of vanity). What? There is only 
one other like it in the world. Look in all the treatises. 
There are two of these pendants. I have one: the 
other is retained by the man who let me have mine. 
He let me have it in exchange for a Venus of the 
Classical period. But I gained by the exchange. 
Nobody gets the better of me. Sometimes I . . . 
manage that with others. (Laughing!) 

Pablo. And who was the victim ? Say — if you 
remember. 

Cast. Fourteen or sixteen years have passed away ; 
but I never forget the names of my victims. I knew 
him in Paris : he was a good fellow : a man of the 
world : of complicated history : in appearance very 
rich : he was very conspicuous in the Spanish- 
American republics : he afterwards disappeared, and 
I don't know what can have become of him. He 
must have died ; because with the life that he led one 
does not live long. 

Pablo. And he was named — ? 



Mariana. 8i 

Cast. Don Felix Alvarado. 

Mar. (rising, and unable to control herself). 
Alvarado ! . . . Alvarado ! . . . 

Joaq. {aside). For God's sake, Mariana! 

Cast. Did you know him ? 

Mar. I? . . . How could that be? . . . Don 
Castulo, I am not yet a piece of antiquity. {With a 
forced laugh.) 

Clara (to her husband) . What things you say ! 

Mar. At that time I was quite a child. Even had 
I known him I should not have remembered him. I 
was about to say — "Alvarado . . . Alvarado — the 
victim of Don Castulo ! " Poor senor ! . . . A 
victim ! . . . Clarita, your husband is much to be 
feared. . . . But you see, Trinidad ! . . . Ah, Don 
Pablo, how implacable ... at times . . . are the 
best of men ! . . . Why, do you not see what Don 
Castulo has done ? . . . Poor Alvarado ! . . . 

Luc. And he was left with the other pendant ? 

Cast. That 's evident. 

Joaq. But are we not going to see the Mexican 
saloon ? 

Mar. Yes, go, you others, to see that curi- 
osity. . . . 

Trin. Well, let us go. 

Luc. Ha ! ... we must all be there. . . . 

Cast, (embracing Luciano and laughing). The 
archaeological blood. 

Clara, (on seeing that all make a movement to go 
out and that Mariana remains seated). Aren't you 
coming ? 

Mar. I have seen so many things in those galleries 
and they have excited my nerves in such a way that 
before receiving new impressions I should like to take 
a rest. 

6 



82 Mariana. 

Pablo. Do you decidedly wish to wait for Daniel? 

Mar. He understands a great deal about antiqui- 
ties, and I should be glad to know what effect is pro- 
duced on him by that pendant of sepulchral silence 
(laughing), and how he interprets the tiny figures 
with the wings. 

Pablo. I respect your wishes now, as always. 

Mar. (extending her hand to him). You are very 
kind, Don Pablo. I respect you as a good gentleman, 
and I esteem you as a loyal friend. 

Pablo. Thanks, Mariana. (To the others^) Shall 
we go? 

Cast. March ! 

Clara (with a caressing gesture to Mariana). 
Meditate, meditate and dream, capricious little head. 

Trin. Let us see how you will interlace that dead 
world (pointing to the galleries') with this living 
world. 

Mar. Everything is interlaced in this world, and I 
should not be astonished if the mummies of Tehuan- 
tepec arose from their couch to come and disturb my 
existence. (Laughing) 

Trin. (turning away from her). What a Mariana 
it is! 

Joaq. (contemplating her for a moment). What a 
Mariana it is ! 

Cast. Walk on, walk on. . . . 

Pablo. Let us now look upon prehistoric America. 

Luc. Let us look upon it for the fifth time. 

[Exeunt all but Mariana. 

Mar. Alvarado ! . . . The wretch ! . . . The man 
of the orgies in London! . . . He who killed my 
mother with shame and grief and hunger. For me to 
hear his name, and for all the dregs of hatred to roll 
together within my breast is one and the same thing. 



Mariana. 83 

No : there are some remembrances that do not pass 
away with time. . . . Oh ! if Alvarado were alive ! 
if I could give him back sorrow for sorrow, shame 
for shame, torture for torture ! Avenge my mother 
on him and on his race ! (A pause.) Don Joaquin 
is right: the impurities and miseries of my childhood 
have left within me the germ of evil. Alvarado. . . . 
Alvarado. . . . {Enter Daniel.) Alvarado ! Ha ! 
{Recovering herself,) It is Daniel. (In a tone of 
sweetness.) 

Dan. Mariana! . . . 

Mar. (giving him her hand). It is you ! . . . I 
thought . . . what madness ! . . . that it was some 
one else. 

Dan. Who? 

Mar. How do I know? Some one else. There 
are so many people in the world. 

Dan. And who may that other be who has the 
power to frighten my Mariana ? 

Mar. Why, any one at all. I am so nervous to- 
day that any one might have terrified me by entering 
suddenly. 

Dan. Even I ? 

Mar. (tenderly). No ; not you. You are the only 
one whom I look upon this day with pleasure. 

Dan. Is it really so, Mariana ? 

Mar. I was expecting you with such impatience ! 

Dan. You were expecting me ? 

Mar. Yes ; they wanted to take me with them to 
go through the chamber of American antiquities; 
and I said: " No — not without Daniel!" (Caress- 
ingly^ Come, does n't that please you ? 

Dan. But is it true ? Did you mean it? 

Mar. I should think so : and not only did I mean 
it; I said: "I have the courage of my convictions 



84 Mariana. 

. . . and of my affections." And when I like anybody 
I proclaim it in a loud voice. And so I said: " I 
shall not see the chamber until Daniel comes : we 
shall see it together." 

Dan. And did Don Pablo hear it ? 

Mar. Why not ? They all heard it. And I said it 
in order that he might hear it. And now, complain 
and be jealous and say that I am bad. I may be very 
bad ; but little by little I shall go on learning to love 
and to be good. 

Dan. Good! My God, but you are an angel! I 
don't know what 's passing over me, Mariana : I never 
have heard you say things like these. 

Mar. Well, senor : don't be saying, in a joke, 
" angel." I am not one yet, but I feel within me that I 
am going to turn good. I still have from time to time 
my outbursts of anger and my moments of distrust. 
Even now . . . not long since . . . just before your 
arrival, I felt something very bad rolling to and fro in 
my heart — like a large, black figure of an angel that 
is broken by mischance. But you appeared, and I 
grew calm : in sober truth I grew calm. It cannot 
but be that you exercise over me a beneficent in- 
fluence. You form around me an atmosphere, as it 
were, of peace, of confidence, of sweetness ... of 
what else ? 

Dan. Say of affection — profound, immeasurable, 
eternal. 

Mar. Well, here I say it — although we are making 
ourselves ridiculous — yes, I '11 say it : of affection — 
profound, unalterable . . . what else was it ? 

Dan. Immeasurable and eternal. 

Mar. Immeasurable and eternal. There you have 
it, Daniel. 

Dan. Ah, my God, how happy a day this is for 



Mariana. 85 

me ! Indeed I had a presentiment of it. On my 
leaving home — a splendid sun, a glorious day. I 
proposed to walk very fast, and a little girl barred my 
path begging an alms from me. " Get away, get 
away ! " I said. And then I remembered : " No, the 
first time I saw Mariana she was giving alms to a 
child." — "Come," I called to her: and there sprang 
forward a cloud of children, and I gave them all the 
money I had about me. What blessings! Well, I 
have gathered up those blessings already in the form 
of sweet utterances from my Mariana. If you love 
me, I shall become a saint. 

Mar. Poor Daniel ! 

Dan. I am not poor now. I am immensely rich 
with hopes. 

Mar. Mark me : no one has loved me in this 
world with all fulness of soul except my mother, and 
I have never sincerely loved any one but her. Well, 
it seems to me that you likewise love me from your 
heart. And it is plain that I too have a heart. I was 
alone in the world with my rebellions, and my dis- 
dains, and my doubts, and with no deep affection. I 
became acquainted with you; and what a battle there 
was within me ! " He is like all the rest. — He is not 
like all the rest." " He is hypocritical and selfish. — 
He is not." " It is not love ; it is caprice. — It is not 
caprice : it cannot be." And I go on convincing 
myself that you are not like others, and that you are 
not deceiving poor Mariana. (In an i7nploring tone.) 
Do not deceive me, Daniel, in saying that you love 
me so much ! 

Dan. I deceive you! Ask me for my life, 
Mariana. 

Mar. That is a trap. To ask of you your life for- 
ever is as much as to say : " Let us be married." 



86 Mariana. 

Dan. And even so ? 

Mar. We must go more gently. I am still rather 
diffident and very untractable. 

Dan. How sweet your accent is, Mariana. After 
all, after all, you are my Mariana. Say yes. 

Mar. Let us go by that pathway: let the rising 
ground come to an end of its ascent. 

Dan. I am on the height calling to you, and you 
are very little short of.it. 

Mar. But that very little is very fatiguing. 

Dan. Then I shall stretch out a hand to you. 

Mar. This day you shall have no reason to com- 
plain of me. Neither shall you be sad. 

Dan. This is the happiest day of my life. 

Mar. {turns to see if the others are coming). It shall 
be so for us both. 

Dan. Have no fear : they are not coming. They 
are surveying the old things. 

Mar. And if they should come, what does it matter 
to me ? I am free. Above all, I am free to say to 
them in a very loud voice: "My friends, T have 
lost my liberty." {With a certain coquettish fona- 
ness.) 

Dan. When will you have that transport of courage 
. . . and that transport of pity ? 

Mar. When? How can I tell? Soon. If it 
should come upon me — this very moment. I am 
capable of saying to them : " Ladies and gentlemen, 
we have come to celebrate the inauguration of the 
Mexican Gallery; well, solemnity for solemnity. I 
announce to you that next month I inaugurate my 
new life, and invite you to my wedding." In those 
very words. 

Dan. Don 't make a farce of this. If it should not 
be possible ! (Between fear and hope.) 



Mariana. 87 

Mar. Not be possible ! — Say that it is not regular : 
but I love what 's irregular, unforeseen, eccentric. 

Dan. And why should it be irregular ? 

Mar. Even if it should be so. . . . But, speaking 
seriously, it is too soon. 

Dan. How sad to hear that. 

Mar. {with much fondness). Don't be sad. See, 
now, this day I feel weak and compassionate . . . 
and if I see you in that condition, I shall begin when 
you least expect it : " Ladies and gentlemen, we have 
come to celebrate the inauguration ..." {Bursting 
into laughter). What folly ! or what an announce- 
ment of what 's going to happen within a little while. 
(Continues to laugh.) 

Dan. Mariana, what power you have over me ! 
With a single sentence I am in heaven ; with another 
sentence — in the bottomless abyss. And I don't 
know where I am. 

Mar. Let 's have discretion. I don't know if it will 
be to-day or to-morrow . . . but I shall either have 
you for companion in this life, or I shall march alone 
to the end. I shall be Daniel's or nobody's. 

Dan. Then mine. 

Mar. Why not ? 

Dan. Then say it. 

Mar. Ah, my God, how conquerors abuse their 
victory ! 

Dan. Mariana! . . . 

Mar. Silence ! 

Re-enter, speaking with great animation, Clara, 
Trinidad, Don Pablo, Don Castulo, Lu- 
ciano, and Don Joaquin : they enter at inter- 
vals and for tn divers groups. 

Joaq. Very curious . . . very curious. 



88 Mariana. 

Pablo. I am not intellectual, but I recognize that 
there are objects of much merit here. 

Cast. Of merit ! Let Luciano tell you that. 

Luc. In this house there are things of great 
price. 

Cast, {referring to Luciano). He is the one who 
should know it. 

Trin. Well, what I have been most pleased with 
... is what Don Castulo said. 

Clara. Now that Daniel is here (To Mariana.) 
you should go and see it. It 's most beautiful. 

Trin. Yes, [Mariana : you will like it very much. 

Joaq. Go with her, Daniel. 

Dan. I am at her orders. 

Mar. [to Daniel). Will you come ? Then let us 
go there. But you come, Don Castulo. 

Cast. Most assuredly. You '11 see, you '11 see, 
Daniel. You are intelligent, but you know nothing to 
equal it. 

*Dan. And what is it? 

Mar. A most curious thing, Daniel. (With much 
amiability, and even in a familiar to)ie.) 

Cast. I have already explained it just now. A 
ring of gold with three pendants : each one is com- 
posed of a small chain — also of gold — and of a little 
figure with wings. . . . 

Dan. (laughing). Yes, I know already: and with 
the hand upon the mouth : one cannot know whether 
it sends a kiss or is imposing silence. 

Cast. That 's it : ah ! you know . . . ? 

Dan. (in a triumphant tone), Why, what have you 
imagined ? It is what you call among yourselves, 
"The two Mexican pendants — unique in the archaeo- 
logical world ! " 

Mar. And so you know them? What this Daniel 



Mariana. 89 

does know ! Don Castulo, would you have imagined 
it? 

Cast, {sadly and humbly). It is true: there are 
two ; but I have no more than one. 

Dan. (laughing). I can well believe it. 

Cast. So that you have seen them? 

Dan. Many times. 

Cast, {disdainfully). Sketches — in books : a kind 
of fac-simile. 

Dan. No — the other one ; the fellow of that which 
you have. 

Mar. How ? . . . You ? ... In what way ? {In 
surprise?) 

Cast, (disdainfully). Good : you will have seen it, 
but you do not possess it. 

Dan. {in a tone of jesting, of triumph, of great 
merriment). So . . . so ! . . . Do you not hear, 
Mariana ? What vanity these learned men are filled 
with ! He believed it was the only one. 

Mar. I don't understand . . . {To Daniel.) You 
say. . . . Go on. . . . {All the rest of this scene is 
commended to the intelligence of the actress?) 

Trtn. Let us know, let us know — how is that? 

Luc. Everything is becoming a curiosity in this 
house — is n't it a fact, Don Pablo ? 

Pablo. So I believe. 

Mar. Very curious. Eh, Don Joaquin? 

Joaq. We are about to see. 

Dan. There is nothing to wonder at ; if that object 
is what you suppose it to be, and not a counter- 
feit. . . . 

Cast. How a counterfeit ! 

Mar. Perhaps it is. 

Cast. Gently, gently : it is not. I have a legal 
record : seven witnesses : certified by the consul at 



90 Mariana. 

Tehuantepec — and the consul of Tehuantepec is n't 
a nobody. Ho, ho, there ! Counterfeit ! What do 
you say to that, Luciano ? 

Luc. That I am half dead with horror, Don 
Castulo. 

Cast. Counterfeit ! 

Dan. Don't be alarmed : the pendant must be 
legitimate. But if it be so, the fellow of it is almost 
mine ; because it was my father who superintended 
the excavations, and from that time onward it has 
been in his museum. 

Mar. Daniel ! . . . Daniel ! . . . No ! . . . No ! 
... It is not true ! 

Joaq, (controlling her). For God's sake ! . . . 

Dan. But, Mariana, what interest do you take in 
a thing . . . that makes me laugh. 

Mar. And me also. {Laughing nervously.) You 
don't know, Daniel. . . . But it is really impossible. 
... It is impossible. . . . Ha, ha, ha ! . . . How 
horrible it would be, Don Joaquin ! (Clinging to 
him.) 

Cast. But I repeat that the man who conceded to 
me that spoil of the tomb of Tehuantepec was an 
American. 

Dan. It might be — no ; it was my father. 

Cast. No ; it was not Sefior de Montoya. 

Mar. (violently). Don't be obstinate, Daniel ; it 
was not Montoya. What a man you are ! . . . No, 
. . . Daniel. . . . [Coming close to him, and speaking 
tenderly.) It was not your father ! . . . Speak the 
truth — it was not — eh ? 

Dax. Why not? 

Cast. Because the American was named Don Felix 
Alvarado. 

Dan. And what difficulty is there in that ? My 



Mariana. 91 

father in his political adventures ... in his secret 
missions ... in his travels to Europe . . . many 
times . . . 

Mar. Changed his name ? 

Dan. Exactly: the conspirator's precautions. . . . 
In America he was called Don Enrique Montoya : in 
Spain, Don Felix Alvarado. 

Mar. So that now there is no hope ? 

Dan. Hope! Of what? 

Mar. Of Don Castulo making up his pair of 
curiosities : your father will not care to deprive 
himself of so inestimable an object. 

Dan. On the contrary, now that you are so much 
interested in these objects, that I may afford a 
pleasure to Don Castulo, and that you may see the 
two pendants together, our good friend may, from this 
day, count upon having the companion pendant. Are 
you both satisfied ? 

Cast. Montoya ! Montoya ! . . . You are a man 
of heart ! . . . (Embraces Daniel, who laughs 
merrily.} This day I will invite you all to another 
breakfast to celebrate the definitive union of the two 
Mexican pendants. In the depth of a tomb they 
were united by death : Montoya separated them : I 
am about to reunite them. 

Mar. How poetical, Don Castulo ! Poetry is 
infectious. And I am thinking . . . Shall I say it? 

Joaq. {aside). Mariana, what are you about to 
do? 

Mar. {aside). To raise a barrier this very moment 
between that man and me. 

Joaq. (aside). Why? 

Mar. (aside). Because I love him. I am so in- 
famous that I still love him. (Aloud.) And so I am 
going to declare it. On that solemn day we shall 



92 Mariana. 

celebrate another definitive union. . . . There will be 
another pair. . . . What a life it is, Daniel ! 

Trin. Another union ? 

Clara. Which one ? 

Mar. It is a secret. {Aside to Pablo.) Don 
Pablo. I acccept your offer. 

Pablo {aside to her). My wife ? 

Mar. {aside). Yes. 

Pablo {aside). You render me the happiest of men. 
{Kisses her hand.) 

Clara. But what about us ? 

Luc. It cannot be : no secrets can be admitted 
here to-day. 

Dan. That would be a cruelty. For God's sake, 
Mariana, by that which you love most or have loved 
most in this world. ... I entreat you. 

Mar. The one whom I loved most was my mother. 

Dan. Then by the memory of your mother. 

Mar. {after a pause). Then ... by her memory 
. .* . I announce to you. my good friends, that I 
intend to be the wife of Don Pablo Arteaga. 

Dan. What? What does she say? She! Mariana 
his wife ? 

Mar. Yes, — his wife. 

Dax. It is not true, Mariana. And if it be true, it 
is an infamy. 

Pablo. Senor de Montoya. that insult I pluck 
away from Mariana : I take it to myself, and I shall 
inflict chastisement for it. 

Dax. Sefior de Arteaga, upon you I 11 bring down 
the chastisement due to both — for her treachery and 
your scorn. I swear it by the name of my father. 

Mar. Which father ? Montoya. or Alvarado ? 

Dan. Montoya! . . . 

Pablo. Enough ! 



Mariana. 93 

Mar. {aside). Ah ! ... My Daniel ! 

Dan. Ah ! wretches — there is no worldly considera- 
tion that shall withhold me. 

Joaq. For God's sake ! 

Clara. Daniel ! 

Cast. Have sense, . . 

Luc. Be prudent, . . . 

Trin. This is too much. 

Mar. {aside). Mother, my own mother, I could not 
have done more for you. 

Dan. (as the actors are arranged in a final grotip). 
Ah ! She . . . she ! . . . Yes ! I see it clear as 
light . . . she has played with my heart. She has 
tortured my soul. She has maddened my brain. . . . 
Miserable woman .... (To Don Pablo). And wretch 
that you are ! . . . Wretch that I am myself ! . . . 
Pass on — out of my sight ... or I shall not be 
answerable for what I do. . . . Mariana, Mariana, 
you shall remember me ! Yes. . . . You shall re- 
member, . . . Oh ! that woman and that man ! . . . 
How they'll have reason to remember Daniel 
Montoya ! 



end of act hi. 



EPILOGUE. 
personages : 

Mariana. 

Daniel. 

Don Pablo. 

Don Joaquin. 

Don Castulo. 

Luciano. 

Felipe, a male servant from Galicia. 

Claudia, a female servant from Andalusia. 

The scene is in a country seat belonging to Mariana, 
in La Granja, or near it. 

The stage represents a drawing-room on the ground 
floor of a country seat of Mariana in La Granja. 
Ln the back-centre a large door looking on to a 
terrace : on either side of the door are great win- 
dows with transparent panes of glass. Beyond 
these are visible the terrace, its flowers, and the 
trees in the garden. At the first wing, to right 
and left are two little doors which lead to two 
private rooms, Ln the second wing there are two 
other and larger doors — that on the left of the 
spectator being supposed to lead to the suite of 
apartments of Mariana, the corresponding one 



Mariana. 95 

to the right leading to the apartments of Don 
Pablo. The drawing-room is adorned with great 
luxuriance and elegance. It is night : candelabra 
are upon the tables : the sky is blue and clear : 
the moon shines at opportune moments, inundat- 
ing with its clear radiance all the background; at 
other ti?nes the light becomes obscure, as though 
concealed by some cloud. 

Enter Claudia and Felipe. They go about the 
room, arranging it, fixing flowers, &>c. 

Felipe. Is everything in order ? 

Claudia. Everything. 

Fel. The bride and bridegroom will soor be here, 
and the bridegroom must have everything in perfect 
readiness. It is a fact. 

Claud. Well, let them come. But they won't be 
bride and bridegroom now : they '11 be husband and 
wife. 

Fel. I say that they '11 be bride and bridegroom. 

Claud. They would have been married in Madrid 
at eighjt o'clock : they will have afterwards taken the 
special train which Dona Mariana ordered to be at 
her disposal, and from there they must have come on 
at full speed ; it is half-past eleven or twelve, so that 
they bear the weight of three hours of marriage. 

Fel. Three hours longer of the part of bride and 
bridegroom ; it is a fact. 

Claud. How pig-headed you are ! 

Fel. I am a reflecting man, that 's what I am : it 's 
a fact. 

Claud. You are a dull man — that 's what you are: 
it 's a fact. (Mocking him.) 

Fel. Have you put flowers in the senora's room ? 
Claud. I have put them there, and made a garden 



96 Mariana. 

of it. And also in the senor's room, and it is turned 
into another garden. 

Fel. Flowers in the senor's room ! Now, do you 
see how thoughtless you are ? 

Claud. In what way? 

Fel. What, my dear girl ? Bits of flowers for a 
soldier like Don Pablo, who, as they say, is more 
warlike than Sant Iago ! With more scars and more 
glittering decorations, and who must have killed 
more people ! . . . 

Claud. Kill! kill! Many people kill — with the 
result that no one dies. He may kill . . . : but be- 
fore the marriage he fought a duel — do you hear ? 
And he was pinked ! He was pinked by Don Daniel, 
who is a fine fellow ... he is the one to pink, and 
slay with those great Malaga eyes of his. I know 
him — do you understand? Well, he pinked Don 
Pablo. 

Fel. Indeed? 

Claud. As I tell you : I heard it in Madrid. 

Fel. My dear girl, such are the events of life. He 
who places himself before the point of a sword must 
be pinked — if God brings no remedy. It's a fact. 
And what was it about ? 

Claud. I don't know : Don Pablo and Don Daniel 
were having hot words together, and as they are both 
fierce fellows . . . You now understand. But Don 
Daniel is the fiercer of the two. 

Fel. It must have been about our young lady. 

Claud. It may be, for she is so pretty — so wonder- 
fully pretty ! What are men good for except to kill 
one another for sake of the pretty girls ? 

Fel. And how rich she is ! — so rich ! What are 
men good for except to have an eye on the morrow ? 
It 's a fact. 



Mariana. 9 7 

Claud. That you may say for the husband. As 
for Daniel, neither in attitude of body, nor in posses- 
sion of property, nor in loving with all his soul, nor in 
worth of heart, need he be envious of any man. — What 
are you laughing at, stupid ? 

Fel. Because I know more about all this than you: 
I know how they quarrelled, and why, and what was 
the result. 

Claud. And why did you act the know-nothing, 
slyboots ? 

Fel. To see if you knew anything fresh. But I 
know more than you. 

Claud. Well, out with it. 

Fel. There was a duel ; but Don Daniel did not 
pink him — that 's not a fact. 

Claud. Yes, yes. It 's true. 

Fel. No ! Don Daniel, as he is younger, and as 
he was in a rage, with one stroke after another, dis- 
armed Don Pablo three times — it 's a fact. 

Claud. Have you seen him ? Do you know Don 
Daniel? 

Fel. By name — nothing more. With my eyes I 
have never seen him. 

Claud. And what else ? Go on. 

Fel. Don Pablo, too, was in a rage. When such 
an accident befalls a man he 's bound to be in a rage. 
And he said, " Younger than I am, and with stronger 
arms ! " It seems that Don Daniel has great muscle. 

Claud. Very great. And what then ? 

Fel. That the young one said, "Well, let us try 
shooting." And they tried shooting. And Don Pablo 
had a better aim than Don Daniel, and planted a ball 
in his breast. The young one is more muscular : it 's 
a fact. But the old fellow aimed better : it 's a 
fact. 

7 



98 Mariana. 

Claud. And Don Daniel is dead ? Ah, poor 
fellow ! 

Fel. When you say dying — he did not die. But 
he was very bad — very bad, and he is still in bed, 
suffering greatly. 

Claud. But he has escaped with life? 

Fel. He has escaped, woman ; he has escaped. 

Claud. And Don Pablo ? — Don Pablo . . . got 
away with nothing? 

Fel. No : he, too, had his little crumb of a bullet. 
Only it struck against a rib and bounded off : old 
men's bones are very hard : it's a fact. 

Claud. So, then, he is an old piece of goods ? 

Fel. No, he is not a cripple : — well preserved, erect, 
robust, and brave. But come, he is not in his first 
youth. 

Claud. What will he be ? 

Fel. I don't know what he will be : — it 's a fact. 

Claud. I speak of his years. 

Fel. Oh ! somewhere about fifty. 

Claud. Ave Maria Purissima ! And the sefiorita 
deserts Don Daniel and gets married to that stalking 
statue! A fine taste the ladies of the present day 
have ! Bah ! — I must deprive Don Pablo of his 
flowers : flowers for him ! I shall have to . send to 
the druggist's for barley-water and put it in his room, 
with a basin of broth, a glass of sherry, and a foot- 
warmer. 

Fel. He will have brought a foot-warmer with him : 
because, as you know, when travelling . . . it 's a fact. 

Claud. I am dying to see him : does he throw his 
money about ? 

Fel. I don't know if he scatters money about, for 
although I asked that from the servants who arrived 
this morning from Madrid — and it was from them I 



Mariana. 



99 



got the news I have given you — they did not tell me. 
But as for knowing him, you'll soon know him, 
because the carriages went some time ago to the sta- 
tion to fetch them all, and they cannot be long. 

Claud. Do you mean that a great many people 
are coming ? 

Fel. Some people are coming, but not many are 
coming. 

Claud. And are they all to sleep here ? Ah, my 
God, when nothing has been said to me ! 

Fel. Don't be frightened, for as to sleeping, none 
but the bride and bridegroom will sleep. As the 
others are not brides and bridegrooms, Don Joaquin 
will take them all away to his country seat. 

Claud. I know, I know already : he built it here- 
abouts to have Dona Mariana within view. 

Fel. The very same. And talking about viewing. 
. . . Look, I think they are here already. Don't you 
hear a noise of carriages ? 

Claud. Yes. {Goes to the door of the private room 
to the left.) 

Fel. Where are you going ? 

Claud. To look through the window of the study 
and see if the carriages are coming. 

Fel. You can't go in. 

Claud. I can't go in to the senora's little private 
room ? 

Fel. No, senora. 

Claud. Why, you drone ? 

Fel. Because the key has been lost. 

Claud. It has been lost? 

Fel. Some one has taken it away. 

Claud. Who? 

Fel. The devil — the same who takes away all keys. 

Claud. What are you talking about? 



ioo Mariana. 

Fel. This evening there came a gentleman — a 
young man ; he was young and of good appearance. 
He said he belonged to the press — to those people 
who see everything so as to relate everything in the 
newspapers : it 's a fact. As our senora's wedding 
was so much talked about, and the palace is so 
lovely . . . 

Claud. He wished to see it ? 

Fel. And he saw it — I should think so : and 
everything that he saw will be put down in the news- 
papers : there 's an honor for the sefiora and for all 
of us. But . . . 

Claud. What? 

Fel. On leaving that private room — through 
absence of mind — I say it must have been through 
absence of mind — he took away the key. 

Claud. But — gracious! . . . And if the sefiora 
wishes to enter ? 

Fel. I can get through the window, which is on a 
level with the ground, and open the door. 

Claud. You will really have to do something. 

Fel. Silence! . . . They are knocking for attend- 
ance, and now you have them here. 

Enter Don Castulo and Luciano by the back-centre. 

Servant (preceding theni). Walk in. 

Fel. Walk in, senores ; walk in. 

Luc. This must be a handsome property. 

Cast. They say so: it has a reputation. Great 
luxury ! Modern industry : modern art : everything 
modern ; but it has a reputation in spite of being 
modern. 

Fel. Pardon me, senores : ... are not the other 
senores coming ? 

Luc. They will be here within five minutes. 



Mariana. ioi 

Fel. Well, if you, seiiores, do not require anything, 
we shall go and wait for the other seflores — with your 
permission. 

Luc. You may go. [Exeunt Claudia and Felipe. 

Cast, {looking at everything in leisurely fashion). 
Nothing : just what I told you. Great splendor, 
much ostentation. A veritable palace : almost a royal 
palace. But not an object that 's worth the trouble of 
men like ourselves fixing our attention upon. {Con- 
temptuously.) Modernism : pure modernism. There 
is nothing here stamped by the seal of individuality : 
there is nothing here which can be, say, sixty years 
old, say fifty. 

Luc. Well, you are already fifty : and you are here. 

Cast. Don't speak to me of persons : neither do 
they go beyond a hundred years. In the class of 
persons, the only ones acceptable are mummies. 
1 " Pick up the most despicable object, throw it back 
to a distance of two thousand years, and it becomes 
changed into an object of incomparable value by the 
work and favor of that marvellous artificer who is 
called time. I laugh at Apollo when he is compared 
with Saturn. Put in a bottle a fool of our own days : 
preserve him for six thousand years, and see if, w T hen 
he is unbottled at the proper time in the coming ages, 
the wisest man of the seventy-ninth century can com- 
pare with him. 

Luc. Don Castulo, you have a profundity which 
fills one with terror. 

Cast, {modestly). I am a man with a partiality for 
universal life." 



1 Author's Note. — In order to lighten this scene in the 
representation, whatever is within inverted commas may be 
omitted. 



102 Mariana. 

Luc. {looking toward the background). But are 
they not coming ? 

Cast. 1 think not : but they '11 soon come. 

Luc. One of the horses of the other carnage cast 
his shoe, and it appears that the loss of it must have 
been rather painful to him still. That must have been 
the cause of the delay. 

Cast, {giving him a slap on the back and laughing). 
Now . . . now I understand you. 

Luc. Me? 

Cast. You are getting over me in a roundabout 
way. 

Luc. I . . . you, Don Castulo! . . . Do you be- 
lieve . . . 

Cast. That 's your way of putting it. Since I 
intimated to you that I had in reserve for you a 
certain surprise, you have not known how to live. All 
your ways have been indirect, circumlocutory, artful ; 
I understand you. 

Luc. I assure you . . . 

Cast. Don't assure me of anything. " You know, 
assuredly, all the precious relics of my house : all its 
secrets and corners. . . . 

Luc. {?nodestly). Not all. 

Cast, Not all — there I believe you. There is 
something which you have not yet seen, and which 
I have reserved as a reward of your constancy and 
your love of archaeology. What do you think of that? 

Luc. I don't understand you. 

Cast. You understand me. If not, why do I find 
you at all hours in my house ? Eh ? Don't blush, 
don't be uneasy : your partialities delight me — for 
they are the same as my own. 

Luc. So I think. 

Cast. Very well, then : learn it and give a place in 



Mariana. 103 

your breast to hope. As soon as we have ended this 
expedition and have returned to Madrid I shall with- 
draw from before your astonished gaze the last veil 
over my august habitation : shall we call it august ? 

Luc. Call it what you please, but draw it aside. 

Cast. Oh! how natural is such impatience." What 
a collection, friend Luciano ! The most humble, the 
most prosaic, and, in the profoundest sense, the most 
sublime ! I would not say this except to one who, 
like yourself, could understand me : from the Egyptian 
until our own days ... a complete collection of horse- 
shoes / What do you think of that ? 

Luc. The devil ! Horseshoes ! 

Cast. Horseshoes. The iron hoof-protectors of 
that generous brute which is called the horse. Equus 
in Latin : "inno? in Greek ! . . . Yes, you had guessed 
it: you are worthy indeed of having guessed it. 

Luc. Many thanks. 

Cast. You do well, Luciano : you do well to interest 
yourself in the archaeology of so modest a type. " No 
one will tax me with vanity when I say that I have 
horseshoes from as far back as those of Pegasus down 
to those of Rosinante; from the Pharaonic, Persian, and 
Tartarean horseshoes down to those of the Cossack 
cavalry ; from the horseshoes of Attila, that annihi- 
lated all grass, down to the horseshoes of Napoleon, 
which, as the seal of revolutionary conquest, move 
along stamping with blood all the continents. When 
I say the horseshoes of Attila and Napoleon, I mean 
those of their respective hippogriffs. 

Luc. That 's understood." 

Cast. All civilizations and all horseshoes have 
constantly clashed together along the path of history. 
You have an example of this now. Thus, my cabinet 
of horseshoes — what else is it but a collection of 



104 Mariana. 

irons and of tortuous annals ? What horseshoes, 
friend Luciano. I shall put them to you. . . . 

Luc. Good God, Don Castulo ! 

Cast. Let me finish. I shall put them before you, 
and you shall read fluently, as you might read in the 
pages of Tacitus, Titus Livius, or Cesare Cantu. J 
It is, indeed, appalling, Luciano. It is, indeed, ap- 
palling. Catch an Arab horse, throw his four hoofs 
in the air, and you have all the Arabic architecture : 
the arch of the horseshoe. Without ironing all is 
erring. Without that marvellous and humble iron all 
is error, and dulness, and confusion. 

Luc. " And talking of errors {wishing to change the 
conversation}, don't you think the recently married 
couple have committed a capital one in uniting 
themselves with an indissoluble tie for the whole of 
their lives ? 

Cast. I don't know. I don't concern myself much 
with those things. 

* Luc. Haven't you observed Mariana? What 
cadaverous paleness ! What a forced smile ! What 
nervous excitement ! 

Cast. I have observed nothing. My imagination 
w T as hurrying onward in the footsteps of other imagi- 
nations. 

Luc. On the termination of the ceremony there 
came over her something like a fainting fit, and along 
the whole way . . . sepulchral silence! 

Cast. Emotions appropriate to the wedding-day. 
Look you, I too was rather moved when I was 
married to Clarita. 

Luc. I believe it. 

Cast. Yes senor. So moved was I that day that 

1 The author of the " Storia Universale," &c. 



Mariana. 105 

I stupidly broke an Eutruscan amphora. An irrep- 
arable loss, friend Luciano." 

Luc. Well, I think they are now here. 

Cast. No doubt they will be. To arrive at a place, 
there 's nothing like proceeding towards it. Sooner or 
later you get there. 

Enter Mariana, Don Pablo, and Don Joaquin 
by the back-centre, Mariana pale and gloomy. 
She walks with so?ne difficulty, leaning 071 the 
arm of Don Joaquin, and sinks upon a sofa or 
cushioned chair after having taken off her hat. 

Joaq. Sit down and rest. You are not well. 

Pablo. How do you feel ? 

Mar. Well, very well. There 's nothing the matter 
with me. Good God, what a child I am! 

Joaq. You are very pale. 

Pablo. Very pale. 

Mar. So many people speak . . . and the saluta- 
tions, the good wishes, the social impertinences ! . . . 
To have to answer everybody. The smiles, the 
courteous phrases, the commonplaces, become ex- 
hausted, . . . and the nerves can hold out no longer. 
The commonplace, which is self-imposed, is that 
which is most wearisome and most exciting. . . . 
and nothing else ails me. {Endeavoring to smile.) 

Pablo. So that you are better? 

Mar. I should hope so. (With ill controlled i?npa- 
tience.) I really say that it is nothing. 

Joaq. Nevertheless, in coming from Madrid to La 
Granja you were not well. Two or three times I 
thought you were becoming insensible. 

Luc. I, too, remarked that. 

Cast. I did not. 

Mar. The train rushed on with such dizzying 



106 Mariaxa. 

velocity that I felt ... I don't know what. . . . and 
I closed my eyes and allowed myself to be whirled 
along. Do we not enter the train voluntarily ? Well, 
we must close our eyes and let ourselves be borne 
helplessly away. {With a forced laugh) Such is life. 
(To Pablo.) Don't be alarmed: I am very well. 
And I am pleased to find myself in my home . . . 
in our home . . . free from prying people and from 
friends. Oh; I don't mean that for you {To Dox 
Castulo and Luciano.) . . . nor for you {To Dox 
Joaquix.), my own father. 

Cast. We. too. shall withdraw, that discretion may 
not clash with friendship. 

Luc. Nor with archaeology. 

Cast. Archaeology is discretion itself : it says 
everything in the form of silence. 

Mar. That 's why I am fond of it. Silence ! 
What eloquence there is in silence ! (To Dox 
Pablo.) Is it not true? 

Pablo. It is my only eloquence. 

Cast. And so we shall withdraw. 

Luc. We are expected at Don Joaquin's villa. 

Mar. Xot yet: for God's sake! (Attempting to 
smile.) You have to see the house. The common 
people, in their emphatic style, call it "the palace.'' 
It is not quite that. But from the drawing-room 
above, the view on a clear moonlit night such as we 
have now is delicious. Go upstairs : for persons of 
imagination, like yourselves, it will be an admirable 
spectacle. 

Luc. However, if we are giving trouble . . . 

Mar. By no means : we'll say ten minutes. I shall 
detain you ten minutes — no more. Pablo, do me the 
favor to accompany them : it is fitting that you 
should do the honors ... as lord of the manor 



Mariana. 107 

. . . meanwhile I shall rest. (She says all this and 
goes through all the scene with ease, with propriety, 
with something of irony, and, above all, with pro- 
found ?nelancholy. She is always the great lady who 
knows how to control herself and to pay the debt due 
to social require?nents* 

Pablo. Shall we go there? 

Cast. We are at your orders. 

Mar. (To Don Joaquin). You know the house: 
you remain. 

Joaq. As you please. 

Pablo. I shall go on in front to show you the way. 

Luc. It 's all really enchanting. 

Cast. It is not bad, it is not bad : but in five 
hundred years' time it will look better. 

\_Exeunt, by the second wing to the right, 
Pablo, Castulo, and Luciano. 

Joaq. What's the matter with you, Mariana? 

Mar. The matter is that the whole universe is 
formed of lead, and is weighing down upon me. I 
can no more, Don Joaquin. I can no more, my own 
father. 

Joaq. Oh ! temper of iron ! You now repent 
(approaching her, and speaking in a low voice), when 
the time is gone forever. 

Mar. Repent ! No. What I did was well done. 
Unless I wished to be the most miserable woman on 
earth, I could not have done otherwise. It was not 
madness : it was not giddiness ; it was honorable 
foresight and just chastisement. 

Joaq. Ah ! blind and headstrong woman ! 

Mar. No, Don Joaquin : it was not blindness, it 
was not stubbornness. I wished to raise a barrier 
between Daniel and myself ; I wished to set at my 
side a man who shall subdue my madness with a hand 



108 Mariana. 

of iron, an implacable man, who, when I find myself 
going towards Daniel ... for I know myself : if he 
does not come to me, I shall go to him. . . . Well, 
then ; when that event takes place, that Don Pablo 
shall kill me and kill him: — and perhaps, to save my 
Daniel, I shall have the strength to withstand the 
impulses of my delirium. 

Joaq. You are not convincing me . . . but, in 
short, it is now done. . . . 

Mar. I don't convince you ! But can you not guess 
all that I thought, all that I suffered on that day ? In- 
somuch, that I was saying to myself — the only man 
for whom I have ever felt love was the son of 
Alvarado ! I in love with the son of that wretch 
who dishonored, who martyred, who murdered my 
mother ! . . . Then . . . what sort of a conscience is 
mine ? What kind of a woman can I be ? Of what 
infamous and degraded substance must I be formed ? 
m Joaq. These are exaggerations : when you were 
in love with Daniel you were ignorant of all that. 

Mar. But I learned it since, and I continued to 
love him : now I know it, and my heart goes out of 
me towards my own Daniel. 

Joaq. Silence! . . . silence! . . . Don't say such 
things. . . . No more, no more ! 

Mar. Is it not true that all this is monstrous? 
That accursed race has brought about the damnation 
of mine ! His father disgraced my mother : and 
Daniel disgraces me. . . . What infamy ! . . . what 
infamy ! . . . Jesus ! . . . Jesus ! 

Joaq. My daughter, it is the commandment of 
God : the sins of the fathers are visited upon the 
children. 

Mar. But if he is innocent — why must he pay for 
the infamies of his father ? 



Mariana. 109 

Joaq. Don't make me mad. You should have 
thought of all this before, and been married to 
Daniel. 

Mar. That — never. You are too pure and too 
noble to mean what you say. I his wife ! I united 
forever to the son of Alvarado ! and the two of us 
on the day of the wedding to go and receive the 
blessing and the kiss of that man! Those lips 
which defiled the mother, deposing themselves with 
a burlesque sanctification upon the brow of the 
daughter ! and then, when Daniel would speak to 
me of his love — to be always thinking, always having 
it in my mind, — that that was what his father said 
to turn the brain of that poor martyr! — with the 
same serious voice, the same tenderness, the same 
transports of passion ! Thus, thus that man dis- 
honored my mother, the mother of my heart! 
The blood of Daniel, his smile, the light of his 
eyes, the burning warmth of his hands, his sweet 
words ! . . . All comes from that source ! The 
daughter wallowing in the dregs of those impurities ! 
No, no, no — anything rather than that eternal and 
revolting infliction. The woman who while thinking 
all this yet loves — for she does love — the son of 
Alvarado — ought to be the wife of Don Pablo : for 
her impurity, the ice-cold curb; for her madness, 
the strait-waistcoat; for the wild beast without 
a heart, the merciless tamer ! 

Joaq. Then you have found what you were looking 
for. When Don Pablo had suspicions of his first 
wife . . . 

Mar. What? 

Joaq, Coldly, impassibly, implacably, without a 
cry, without a recrimination . . . without a men- 
ace . . . 



no Mariana. 

Mar. What, then ? 

Joaq. There are those who say, or at least suspect, 
that he found means to kill her with a single blow. 

Mar. And can he have forgotten it? 

Joaq. I think not. 

Mar. Would to God . . . ! 

Joaq. Silence : they are coming back. {Going to 
the door.) 

Mar. Let us pretend to be speaking of indifferent 
matters. 

Re-enter Pablo, Castulo, and Luciano. 

Luc. Admirable, Mariana: an enchanted palace. 

Mar. Really? 

Cast. There is something : yes, there is something. 
I speak of what I am familiar with. Those carpets 
are good. And those enamels . . . they are of value 
. . . they are of value. . . . and that beaten silver 
... we could steal it with a good will — could we not, 
Jwuciano ? 

Luc. I would not steal anything, Don Castulo. 

Cast. Would you never rob me of anything? 
Come, . . . come. . . . 

Luc. (slowly). Perhaps so. 

Cast. I knew it already. (Thrusting at him play- 
fully.) 

Pablo (to Mariana). How are you? 

Mar. The sickness of the journey has not left me ; 
I suspect that I am going to have a very violent 
megrim. 

Joaq. Then, child, you must have rest. 

Luc. With your permission we shall retire. The 
coach is waiting for us (To Mariana.) and Don 
Joaquin's country house is waiting for us. 

Cast, (taking leave). Mariana ... I am your 



Mariana. hi 

sincere friend, and the happiness of my friends, male 
and female . . . though it is not an object which can 
be included in my museum — does nevertheless afford 
me a most singular pleasure. 

Mar. A thousand thanks, Don Castulo. I preserve 
remembrances of your museum which will not easily 
be erased from my mind — believe me. 

Cast. A thousand thanks, Mariana. Adieu, Don 
Pablo : I am your sincere friend, and the happiness 
of my friends male and female . . . though it is not 
an object . . . (Luciano places himself between the 
two and laughingly separates the?n. Don Pablo and 
Don Castulo walk toward the terrace, murmuring 
exchanges of compliment.) 

Luc. Good ! . . . Good ! Adieu, Mariana ; I am 
always yours. 

Mar. Adieu, Luciano. (They shake hands.') 

Joaq. Adieu . . . adieu, my daughter . . . (Luci- 
ano joins Castulo and Pablo on the terrace?) 

Mar. Farewell, my own father. {She and Joaquin 
embrace.) 

Joaq. Courage ! . . . 

Mar. I have too much courage. ... It is happiness 
that I am in want of. 

Joaq. Farewell ! 

Mar. Farewell! . . . (The four men bid each other 
good-bye upon the terrace, where they are seen for some 
moments) — I shall go into my bedroom. (Stopping.) 
No: he would come in. Into my sitting-room. (Goes 
to the door of the study, then changes her intention?) — 
But why ? (Looking whether they are going.) I shall 
go to my bedroom and lock myself in. No : I shall 
remain. (Sinks upon a sofa.) They are going now. 
Now they have gone. He is coming back. What 
matter ? 



1 1 2 Mariana. 

Pablo (returning). Are you better? 

Mar. No, I have a ring of iron around the forehead. 
of iron made red-hot: it oppresses and burns. Is 
that pleasant ? 

Pablo {softly). Poor Mariana ! 

Mar. Have the others gone ? 

Pablo {approaching close to Mariana.) Yes. 

Mar. (as if in the effort to say something). Come ! — 
so they have gone. 

Pablo (sitting close to her). And have left us 
alone. 

Mar. Excuse me . . . will you shut that door ? — 
(Pointing to the door in the back-centre.) 

Pablo. Most certainly. (Shuts the door) The 
night air was troubling you ? 

Mar. When I am as now . . . everything troubles 
me. 

Pablo. I, too ? 

Mar. What a question ! 

.Pablo. Don't you wish that we should speak ? 

Mar. Yes : you may speak ; but pardon me if my 
answers are brief. Each word pronounced by me 
resounds in my brain like the blow of a hammer upon 
an empty case. 

Pablo. You have said : " your answers." Do 
you suppose that my words will take the form of 
questions ? 

Mar. I said it for the sake of speaking, and now 
you may suppose that if I am not in a condition to 
speak, I am still less able to enter into discussion. 

Pablo. Then I too will refrain from speaking. 

Mar. As you please : silence is the only thing 
which eases my pain. 

Pablo. Silence and solitude — is it not so ? Solitude 
and silence. 



Mariana. i i 3 

Mar. They are good companions; but I did not 
mean quite so much. 

Pablo, {taking her hand). Poor Mariana: your 
hand is like ice. 

Mar. Didn't I tell you so ? I am not well. Let it 
go . . . let go. . . . Excuse me. . . . {Pulling away 
her hand) I must try to get it warm again. {Muffling 
up her hands and sinking further back upon the sofa 
as if to fly from Pablo.) 

Pablo {on seeing that she closes her eyes and lets 
fall her head). Are you sleepy ? 

Mar. A little. Do you know, I think that with 
sleep this trouble would pass away from me. 

Pablo. Then sleep for a short time and see if it 
will refresh you. I '11 watch over you from this 
couch. 

Mar. No : sleeping for a short time will not be 
enough. I require a long sleep — very long. For 
great sorrow we must have sleep that lasts a great 
while. 

Pablo. Poor Mariana ! You women are very weak. 

Mar. It 's true ; and I am weaker than others. 

Pablo. That's why you, who may be so, require a 
husband who shall love you from his soul, but who 
shall guide you with a firm hand. For your sufferings 
are often pure fantasy. " I am ill : I am ill," you 
women say in a soft and plaintive voice, as you said 
just now ; and if a voice, affectionate but energetic 
says to you : " You are not ill : you are not ill : I 
don't wish you to be ill ... " — Miracle of affection ! 
You are well at once. Is n't that so ? {He says all 
this as if jestingly, but it is visible that he controls 
himself with effort, and that in his manner there is an 
undertone of domineering hardness) 

Mar. {coldly). No: it is not so. This night I feel 
8 



ii4 Mariana. 

really ill. And even if you should say to me with all the 
fondness and all the energy imaginable : " Don't be 
ill : I will not have it so," I should continue to be ill 
— in spite of the command ! {With an ironical smile.) 

Pablo. I do not command, Mariana: I entreat. 

Mar. So I suppose, and I am glad of it. It is too 
soon to command. But, ah, my God ! you see, I have 
spoken a little. The pain has increased, and is now 
grown intolerable. {Pressing her forehead.) 

Pablo (on the point of bursting into a rage). For 
all that . . . 

Mar. (with dignity a7id haughtiness). What? 

Pablo. I don't insist : — we shall see whether 
with silence, rest, and sleep your suffering will pass 
off. 

Mar. Thank you. 

Pablo. Do you wish me to accompany you to 
your bedroom ? 

Mar. No : excuse me. I shall be well enough 
here : the first sleep . . . here. 

Pablo (after a pause, in which he silently contem- 
plates her). Adieu, Mariana : sleep, take rest ... I 
am not a tyrant : you wish to be alone and I leave 
you. 

Mar. I am obliged to you, Pablo. Adieu. 

Pablo. Won't you give me your hand ? 

Mar. Why not? . . . 

Pablo. It is burning now. 

Mar. Indeed? . . . Let me see . . . (With- 
drawing her hand.) I think you are right. 

Pablo. Good-bye till to-morrow. (Turning toward 
his bedroom.) 

Mar. {without looking at him). Till to-morrow. 

Pablo (at the door of his room, but without enter- 
ing. Aside). She has a will of iron. All the better. 



Mariana. 115 

Mar. I believe he has gone at last. He leaves me 
alone. To-morrow we shall see. He thinks to 
subdue me ; that 's not so easy. (Pablo still stops at 
the door of his room. From that position he contetn- 
plates Mariana. Mariana turns to see if he has 
gone. On noting her move?nent Pablo comes back.) 

Pablo {in a hard and resolute tone). Pardon me : 
one more word. 

Mar. {with an irritation which she does not attempt 
to conceal) . Again ! 

Pablo. Oh, it will be very brief. ... I know that 
you have married me without loving me, but I don't 
know why you have married me. I knew that you 
were honorable, and that was enough for me. You 
don't love me to-day ? It does not matter ; love may 
impress itself upon others : mine will impress itself. 
I wished that you should be mine : so you at present 
are : there is now time to make the rest come true. 
This is the way with me : if I propose to myself to 
succeed in a thing, I succeed in it. Life ! What is 
life ? A means — nothing but a means to bring about 
the triumph of one's will. My will has triumphed. 
The first time I saw you I thought : " That woman 
shall either be my wife, or she shall be no man's." 
You found me always cold : if you had been able to 
plunge your hand into my heart, how soon you would 
have snatched it away from the intensity of the heat. 
But to-day no more of that. You will have it so, and 
I wrap myself round in ice once again. To-day no 
more : sleep, rest : to-morrow you shall answer me. 

Mar. Answer ! To what question ? 

Pablo. To this : " Why have you married me ? " 
I shall wait till to-morrow. 

Mar. I can answer you to-night. 

Pablo. Then answer. 



n6 Mariana. 

Mar. I have said it already : we women are not 
strong. I wished to have by my side a strong being 
who should compel me to walk in the only path 
possible. 

Pablo. The path of honor ? 

Mar. Of course. 

Pablo. Then you will walk in it, and I suppose 
without my assistance. 

Mar. And if I should need that assistance ? 

Pablo. I shall not fail you. 

Mar. Under all its forms ? 

Pablo. Under all. 

Mar. Even under the form of chastisement and 
vengeance ? 

Pablo (advancing towards her). Mariana ! 

Mar. Reply. It is now my turn to question. 

Pablo (violently). Then, under that form, too. 

Mar. Indeed ? (Ironically .) And if you should 
not have the courage? 

JPablo. Don't put me to the test. 

Mar. If the case should happen I '11 put you to it. 

Pablo (approaches her and takes her hand). You 
are feverish ; lie down and rest. 

Mar. To-morrow it may be I who shall request a 
complete explanation. 

Pablo. I shall always be at your orders. 

Mar. Adieu. 

Pablo. Adieu. (Stoppi7ig. Aside). Ah! Mariana, 
you don't know me. 

Mar. To-morrow I shall know what this man is. 

[Exit Pablo. 

Mar. (listening). Yes : he has gone into his 
room. Ah! I can breathe. It seems as if, when 
he is at my side, ... he robs me of the air. To 
suffer . . . good : but one requires extension, space, 



Mariana. i i 7 

the ambient atmosphere in which the suffering may- 
expand itself. A confined sorrow is unendurable : it 
becomes condensed here {Presses her forehead?) . . . 
and brings on madness. It becomes condensed here 
{Pressing her bosom.) — and the heart breaks. Now 
I am more calm. {Goes to a window.) How 
beautiful and how clear is the night ! How the moon 
shines! (Touches the bell, and Claudia appears to 
the left with a lighted candle.) Tell them to come 
and take away those lights. That which you are now 
bringing will be enough for me. {Takes it from her 
and puts it on a table. She afterwards takes off her 
travelling cloak and throws it upon the sofa?) 

Claud. Yes, senora. {She goes out for an i?istant 
and returns with two male servants.) 

Mar. {walking about nervously). These people 
irritate me, and the light and the noise and all things 
are a trouble to me. (To Claudia.) You may 
retire to rest. I shall go to bed alone. 

Claud. If such is your order, senora. . . . 

Mar. Yes : that is my order : and let my maid also 
go to bed. 

Claud. A very good night, senora. 

Mar. Good-night. (Claudia goes to shut the two 
windows in the back-centre?) Don't shut those 
windows : so : as they are. 

Claud. Yes, senora. 
{Exit. The male servants meanwhile take away 
the candelabra through the door to the left. 

Mar. So: every one far from me. Alone — and 
thinking upon him. {Approaches the table and puts 
out the light : the apartment remains illuminated by 
the moon alone j in the first wing it is dark.) Upon 
him . . . my eternal companion. {Stops.) Will he 
be thinking of me ? Assuredly. With Daniel there 



1 1 8 Mariana. 

can be no more than one idea — his Mariana, and the 
horrible treachery of his Mariana. Poor Daniel! 
Let him suffer, let him suffer, provided that he suffers 
for my sake : let him never console himself. Oh ! 
that would be treachery indeed ! (Stopping.) What 
noise is that ? Is Pablo coming back ? {Goes to 
Pablo's door and listens. Meanwhile the door of the 
private room of Mariana ope?is, and Daniel 
appears beyond the curtain : he comes with head 
uncovered and with dress rather disarranged, since it is 
understood that he has scrambled through the window. 
Meanwhile Mariana listens close to the door of 
Pablo : Daniel observes her). Nothing is heard. 
He must be thinking of what he has to say to me to- 
morrow, and how he will make me tame. (B?irsts into 
suppressed laughter?) 

Dan. {aside). Wretch! wretch! . . . And she 
laughs and is merry ! . . . Now 7 I too shall be merry. 

Mar. {listening once more). Everything is quiet. 
He will have locked himself in his room. I shall go 
to mine. {Walking slowly .) And my Daniel will be 
with me : always with Mariana : always. . . . (Raises 
the curtain) 

Enter Daniel. 

Ah!. . . A man! What? Who is it ? (Retreating 
in terror.) 

Dan. {following her). Do you not recognize me 
now ? 

Mar. Daniel J ... No ! . . . A lie ! . . . Daniel ! 
. . . (The stage is illuminated only by the light of the 
moon, which flows in through the two great windows 
in the background, the same which, as has been said, 
were left open.) 

Dan. Don't run away . . . Here ! ... Be calm ! 
. . . Silence! . . . {Overtakes her and controls her.) 



Mariana. 



119 



Mar. Daniel ! . . . Impossible ! ... It is a 
dream ! . . . Leave me ! . . . Let me go . . . Daniel ! 
... My God ! 

Dan. Be quiet ! ... Be quiet ! . . . What, — did 
you think that on the night of your wedding day 
I could be far off ? 

Mar. But is it you ? ... Is it you ? 

Dan. You did not expect me — eh? 

Mar. (embracing him). It is my Daniel ! . . . 
My Daniel ! ... It seems to me impossible ! 

Dan. And does my presence make you glad ? 

Mar. Don't you know it well ? (Passionately.) 
Yes — it was right for you to be here ! 

Dan. But what kind of woman are you ? 

Mar. Mariana! (Caressingly.') It is you, now, 
who don't know me. 

Dan. I don't know ! . . . I shall go mad . . . and 
she looks upon me with fondness ! . . . and almost 
strangles me in her arms ! . . . But the world is a 
crowd of mad-folk! . . . And this woman — what is 
she ? . . . Let me see ... let me see . . . Come 
here ... to the light . . . that I may look at you ! 
(Takes her to where the moonlight falls upon her.) 

Mar. Yes, look at me . . . look at me . . . and 
let me also look at you. . . . Now we have seen each 
other. . . . Now my heart has gathered up its 
treasure of joy for a long time to come. . . . And now 
go away. . . . There, go away ! 

Dan. Already ! . . . All those outbursts of passion 
were that I should go away ! . . . I am the little lad 
to whom a toy is given . . . and they say to him : 
" Away with you : don't be troublesome." " Take a 
smile, Daniel : a caress : a fond phrase — and — be off, 
you disturb me." Well, I shall not go : that might 
have been long since. Now (fiercely) I shall not go. 



120 Mariana. 

Mar. I wish it : I command it : it is imperative : 
Go. 

Dan. No: no: I tell you, no. It is I now who 
shall give orders. {Shaking her brutally.) 

Mar. Let go ! Villain ! If you don't go ... I '11 
call out. 

Dan. To your husband ? 

Mar. To Pablo. 

Dan. Where is he? 

Mar. {pointing to the room). There. 

Dan. Her husband is tired of her already, and flies 
from her? 

Mar. You fool ! . . . Don't you see that I have 
suffered much to-day — that I thought I should have 
gone mad! ... I arrived here almost insensible. 
... I arrived ill ... I begged him to leave me, . . . 
and he went to his room. All men are not cruel like 
you. 

Dan. You have suffered much to-day! {With a 
mixture of terror and joy.) 

Mar. Yes: more than you. You thought that 
there could not be a sorrow more unbearable than 
yours : well, yes there is : it is mine. 

Dan. Then you don't love him ! 

Mar. Love him! . . . That man! ... Poor 
Daniel ! 

Dan. Then it is myself whom you love? 

Mar. And if I answer that question will you go ? 

Dan. Yes. 

Mar. Swear it. 

Dan. I swear it. 

Mar. Then listen well : I only love one man : 
yourself : Daniel : the Daniel that has possession of 
my soul. For you . . . I 'd forfeit everything . . . 
life itself ! 



Mariana. 121 

Dan. Mariana ! . . . But all this is mockery : you 
are turning me into ridicule. 

Mar. Making mockery of you ! No : I have loved 
you : I do love you : I shall love you forever : I 
swear it to you by the memory of my mother. So let 
that man come and deal out death to us both if I don't 
speak the truth. You will not believe me, but God 
knows it: God believes me! Go, Daniel: go: have 
pity on me and do not forget me ! 

Dan. The explanation of all this ! . . . Quick . . . 
quick! . . . 

Mar. Never. It is my secret. 

Dan. No: I know you: you are deceiving me 
once more. It would not be the first time : it would 
not be the second . . . but the last time has now gone 
by ... . Speak ! . . . Speak! . . . 

Mar. Go away. 

Dan. No! 

Mar. You swore you would . . . 

Dan. What do oaths matter to me — any more than 
they do to you ? 

Mar. Don't drive me mad. Go away . . . or I 
shall call. 

Dan. Well, then, I shall go. {Runs to the back 
and opens the door. 

Mar. What are you doing ? 

Dan. Seeing that the way is clear. 

Mar. What for? 

Dan. That I may go out of this house. I shall 
fulfil my word : I shall go out ; but not alone ; I mean 
to go with you. 

Mar. No! . . , That shall not be. 

Dan. We two together: forever! I have forced 
the little door of the outer wall : a carriage is waiting 
for me : and in it we two . . . 



122 Mariana. 

Mar. {retreating). To where? 

Dan. How do I know! Anywhere: where you 
please : where in all tranquillity you may love me, 
hate me, deceive me . . . but both together ! 

Mar. {flying from him), Xo : I say no. 

Dan*. Yes; I say yes. {Seizing her.) 

Mar. Let go, wretch ! . . . You have in you the 
blood of that wretched creature. 

Dan. {raising her forcibly). Well if you are 
obstinate, so shall I be. . . . 

Mar. Let go . . . keep off. ... I despise 
you ... I hate you ! . . . monster . . . villain . . . 
Xo . . . no . . . You shall not do with me what 
Alvarado did with my mother ! {Beside herself : 
maddened by the struggle : not knowing what she 
say si) 

Dan. What ? . . , What does this woman say ? . . . 
{Setting her down: she flies from him, stands apart, 
and gazes at him triumphantly.) 

Mar. That! . . . That! . . . What I have told 
you! . . . You now see that you shall not bear me 
aw*ay ! 

Dan. Alvarado! . . . Who is Alvarado? . . . Was 
it my father ? 

Mar. Yes ! . . . [In another tone : a tone of supreme 
sorrow.) 

Dan. {with horrible anguish). And your mother? 
... Is that what I am to understand? 

Mar. Yes ! . . . 

Dan. And he ? . . . And she ? . . . Then it was 
for that ? 

Mar. For that ! 

Dan. For that you have hated me? 

Mar. I ought to have hated you. . . . Yes. . . . 
Hate you! . . . And I love you with all my soul : 



Mariana. 123 

what more can you ask? . . . (At a distance, in 
anguish, with weeping, in a low voice. A solemn but 
not too prolonged pause). 

Dan. My God ! . . . My God ! . . . Mariana ! . . . 
Mariana ! . . . one word — no more . . . may I ask 
you to forgive me ? . . . 

Mar. Forgive you, poor Daniel? For what? 

Dan. And will you continue to love me? {Ap- 
proaching her.) 

Mar. Forever ! . . . 

Dan. (still closer). And you will forget all ? 

Mar. All. — But forget you? — No: not that. 
You I shall never forget. (Approaching him as if 
magnetized?) 

Dan. And when all that's forgotten, you^have no 
past, neither have I. (Close to her ; in a sweet and 
tempting voiced We are two beings who meet, who 
become united, who shall not now be separated. 
(Clasping her round the waist.) And we two shall go 
alone thus through the world ! We shall see before 
us a most beautiful garden. . . . Then ... we have 
but to cross it . . . Mariana ! . . . Mariana ! . . . 
My only possession ! . . . My life ! . . . Am I not 
the being whom you most love in creation ? Then 
what does the rest of creation matter to you ? You 
are with me ! Are not you all that exists in my eyes ? 
Then what does anything else matter to me ? I am 
with you. Poor woman, poor Mariana, poor little 
sufferer in imagination ! Make a sacrifice of illusions, 
phantoms, remembrances ; come to a living, present, 
palpitating happiness. Do you love me ? Do I love 
you ? Then let all the rest vanish and pass away like 
a ridiculous masquerade. Look around you and you 
will see nothing more than your Daniel, and your 
moving shadow commingled with mine, and a very 



124 Mariana. 

bright moon which paints in white for our sake a 
pathway of that garden which conducts to liberty, to 
happiness, to love, to delirium, to heaven ! Because 
for us alone, if you have courage, God has created 
heaven. — Come, Mariana. 

Mar. Daniel ! . . . I can no more . . . my strength 
is failing me . . . my head whirls round . . . my 
heart leaps from me . . . there run through my body 
cold shudderings that shake me to pieces ! . . . My 
God ! . . . My God ! . . . Have compassion on me ! 
I love you, I love you, Daniel, most dearly ! (Now 
conquered^) 

Dan. Poor Mariana, you are trembling with cold. 
It is the faint breeze of the coming morn. . . . When 
inside my carriage I shall wrap you up well. . . . 
Look , . . look . . . here you have left your travelling 
cloak. (Picking up the one which was left on a chair.) 
I shall help you . . . my Mariana. . . . {Putting the 
cloak on her.) Quick . . . make haste ... let us 
go. . . . Am I not helping you ? . . . My Mariana. 
. . . My own Mariana. . . . You now see whether I 
love you. ... I am helping you as if you were a little 
child. . . . The little child of my soul ! . . . My own 
little child ! (This awakens the memory ^Mariana 
to that part of her life described in the Second 
Act.) 

Mar. (utters a scream and tears herself away from 
Daniel). It was in this way my mother dressed me 
that night ! . . . No ... let go ... Pablo ! . . . 
(Dashing herself against the door of her husband } s 
room.) Pablo! . . . Pablo! . . . Come — for I am 
an infamous woman ! . . . 

Dan. Mad woman, what are you doing ? 

Mar. Now you shall see ! . . . Pablo, help ! . . . 
Your honor calls you ! . . . 



Mariana. 



I2 5 



Dan. Do you then hate me? Do you not love 
your Daniel? 

Mar. You shall now see whether I love you. . . . 
Pablo ! . . . Come to me ! ... to your vile wife ! . . . 
To me ! . . . 

Enter Pablo with a revolver in his hand. Still the 
light of the moon, alone. 

Pablo. Who calls ? What's this? Mariana! . . . 
A man ! 

Mar. It is Daniel! . . . {Pointing to Daniel and 
embracing him.) 

Pablo (Jo Daniel). Wretch! 

Dan. Wretch yourself, who have robbed me of 
what was mine. 

Mar. We are both wretches. {Pointing to herself 
and Daniel.) Listen! I always loved him. I 
married you through jealousy ! . . . I was going to 
run away with him. Do you understand ? If you 
let me go, I shall run away. Let us see what you will 
do. It is now your turn. What will you do? . . . 
What will you do, Pablo? ... I love him. What 
will you do ? {Still in the embrace of Daniel as if 
challenging Don Pablo.) 

Pablo. That which you desired of me ! . . . {Fires 
upon Mariana who reels to the ground. 

Dan. Mariana! . . . {Throwing himself upon her.) 
Mariana ! . . . Mariana ! . . . My darling ! . . . 
Answer me ! . . . Mariana ! . . . 

Pablo. I am waiting for you ! . . . 

Dan. That 's true ! {Arising with a terrible look.) 
This man still remains to me ! 

Pablo. Are you armed ? 

Dan. Yes. {Drawing, or pointing to where he has 
a revolver.) 



126 Mariana. 

Pablo. Then let us go there. (Indicating the 
garden.} 

Dan. Let us go. 

Pablo. It shall now be a combat of life and 
death. 

Dan. There was only one life that was worth com- 
bating for : and that lies there. {Painting to the body 
of Mariana.) What matters for such lives as ours ! 
. . . Adieu ! . . . Xo ! . . . I shall be with you soon. 
Mariana! I shall be with you soon ! 

[Exeunt towards the garden. 



END OF THE DRAMA. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



022 011 533 1 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



022 011 533 1 



